


COMPROMISED

by progical



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2020-05-13 14:32:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 87,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19253110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/progical/pseuds/progical
Summary: Clarke Griffin is a brilliant former CIA operative now serving a life sentence in a Supermax prison for espionage, treason and her role in the deaths of her former team. Against every fiber of her being FBI Special Agent Lexa Woods is ordered to enlist the help of the woman she hates most in the world to track down the very organization she sold her loyalty to.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The original idea for this fic came by connecting two plot points from different TV shows, so you may recognize narrative beats from the Enemy Within, Blacklist and others along the way, but know that this isn't a direct retelling of any of them.

**2014**

 

“Yes, of course I remembered AND I've already taken care of it. I'll be at the office today, but...”

Suddenly Clarke loses the thread of what she was saying as something suddenly feels off.

She's not really listening to her cell phone anymore, instead inconspicuously looking around the trafficked street. As usual for the time of day it's full of people hurrying to work, a noisy line in front of the coffee cart takes up half the sidewalk and... A man on her right is sitting on a bench and reading the newspaper, but his eyes aren't moving. He's pretending.

She continues to walk assessing her surroundings more closely, looking for more inconsistencies before overreacting. Unfortunately there are. A guy in jogging gear is stretching against a tree, his shoes look brand new and his hip pack hangs too heavy. That meter maid across the street is checking the same license plate for a third time now. She's using the car's rear window to keep track on what's going on behind her, Clarke realizes. Keeping track of her.

The blonde's stomach clenches in dread, but she keeps a calm exterior and doesn't change her pace.

“Hey listen, I have to go now. Yeah, talk to you later. Love you.”

She smiles at the snappy response she gets, then hangs up and slips the phone in her pocket.

Her heart is beating wildly, it takes all her self control not to take off running, hoping against all odds to get away from the dragnet surrounding her, but instead she forces herself to take a deep breath and stops. She sets her purse on the ground besides her and slowly lifts her hands up, palms open.

There is a sudden tire screech from behind her. “Move in! Move!”

The man has dropped his newspaper and is heading for her with a gun in hand, so is the jogger. Two nondescript vans spit out more agents in tactical gear, and soon there are a dozen bodies closing in.

“FBI, don't move! Down! Down on your knees! Hand behind your head!”

Clarke complies with the orders, let's it happen. Somebody kicks her purse away, sending all it's contents rolling off and the concrete. Strong arms push her to the ground. Her phone lands badly and cracks. Handcuffs click closed on her wrists. During all of this guns stay trained on her.

“Clarke Griffin, you’re under arrest for espionage and conspiracy against the United States of America.” A female voice announces as she's roughly pulled back up to a standing position. They turn her around and she comes face to face with the agent in charge, a high cheeked Asian woman looking at her in ill hidden disgust. For a moment it looks like she wants to add something else, but then thinks better of it. “Get her out of here.”

“Yes, S.A. Woods.”

They drag her to a vehicle, doors are closed after her and that's it.

One holding cell to the next, windowless transports, closed-door hearings, maximum security detainment. The news or the arrest spreads like wildfire, there isn't a channel or news anchor that day that isn't reporting on the story over and over.

“...CIA Deputy Director of Operations Clarke Griffin disclosed highly sensitive information...”

“...officials are saying at least four American agents were killed as a direct result...”

“...one of the worst traitors this country has ever seen...”

“...the most hated woman in America...”

“...she’s a traitor if I've ever...”

“...a traitor...”

 

“Traitor.”

 

 

**FIVE YEARS LATER**

**2019**

 

The sun is just rising over DC, the streets still rather empty, but Supervisory Special Agent Lexa Woods is already wide awake and running the river walk trail. Focusing on her rhythmic footfalls over the soft music in her ears, she tries to push herself even further, to the limit where she knows her legs will burn for hours later. Some days it's the only thing that can keep her at her desk and by the number of reports waiting for her she knows this could be one of those.

Suddenly out of nowhere a black SUV cuts her path off. It stops on the greenery of the traffic island and she has to brace herself against it's hood to stop her momentum, but it doesn't seem to bother her sister, who jumps out the driver's side. Lexa rips out her earbuds.

“What the hell, Anya? Are you trying to kill me? If it's about yesterday, I told you I wasn't feeling like going out, I really...”

But it's not about yesterday, even as she is talking Lexa notices there is a chopper in the air somewhere nearby and she can hear sirens. Anya has a somber look on her face.

“We've got attacks, Lex. Three different cities: Philadelphia, New York and here in DC..”

The irritation instantly forgotten she goes in FBI mode, checking her phone for notifications she might have missed. “Victims?”

“A dozen dead so far. Among them three Treasury Department Officer, a U.S. District Attorney and two CIA operatives.”

The sweat down her back goes from hot to ice cold in an instant and her mind starts to race while she's climbing inside the vehicle. She'll have to change at work. “Bombs?”

“Drive by shooting at 6, an explosion at 8:30. We aren't yet clear when the last hit went down, the body was found by a sanitation worker around seven. Looks like a stabbing.”

“Coordinated.” She looks down to her watch. “It's a quarter past nine now, this could still be ongoing.” She hesitates for a moment, thought formed but unsure if she should say it our loud yet. “It's Azgeda isn't it?”

“You tell me.”

“It's Nia. Call everybody in.”

 

 

“Nia Tal a.k.a. Nia Queen or the Ice Queen, 59 years old, former SVR agent, founder of the Azgeda terror network, and considered one of the greatest threads to America today. She is currently number three on the FBI Most Wanted List.”

A thirty year-old grainy black and white photo is up on a monitor in a briefing room somewhere in the two million square feet of the J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building. Lexa had barely time to shower and put on a suit before her team was summoned in front of the Division Chiefs, quite a number of other assorted intelligence officers seem to be sitting in on the meeting as well. She carries on.

“In 2013 she was responsible for the bombing of American Airlines Flight 6175 in Boston.”

The monitor switches to a passenger jet with a charred, gaping hole in its fuselage.

“Fifteen people lost their lives when a nitroglycerin-based bomb was detonated while the plane was at its gate. Had it been airborne, the death toll would have risen to include every single one of the 283 passengers on board. That’s what most know about the attack. What they don’t know, is that the Flight 6175 bombing was a trial run... for twenty-six more bombings just like it.”

The visual of a world map showing all those planes bound for the U.S. is chilling, clearly not even everybody in this room had been read in on this part.

“Four thousand American lives were saved thanks to intel gathered by the CIA. Two months later, Nia retaliated, using a CIA insider to find and kill the operatives responsible for stopping the bombings in a way similar to what we saw...”

“Cut to the chase agent, Queen is behind this?”

The older man interrupting her seems to give voice to more then just his personal impatience, so Lexa put down the remote she was using for the presentation and turns to the gathered group. There have not been any more attacks, but the FBI is still scrambling to get on top of things as the news is starting to spread to the general public.

“There is no doubt in my mind, Sir.”

“The attacks five years ago were retaliatory.” Somebody objects.

“So were these. Lincoln?”

Her colleague sitting nearby in front of a laptop pulls up a series of magnified internal memos on the monitors, relevant passages already highlighted. In his deep calm voice he walks them through what they found.

“Some of the victims killed this morning were part of a CIA led task force targeting Queen's finances. We can assume everybody else was collateral damage, the attack was aimed at crippling our work on one of the most promising leads on her we were currently working.”

One of the chiefs throws the file he was thumbing trough on the conference desk. “One of the only ones. We’ve been investigating her for years and this is all we have on the organization?”

“She went to ground after the airport bombing. We’re dealing with one of the most sophisticated and elusive enemy operatives on the planet Sir, she's a ghost.”

“Well this ghost just killed fourteen people, Agent Woods. If you aren't up to the task you better move aside and let somebody else have the ball.”

Before she really can tell the career bureaucrat that talked down to her exactly what she thinks about him and his inappropriate sports metaphor, Deputy Director Marcus Kane clears his throat and puts and end to the discussion.

“Special Agent Woods and her team have our full confidence. No need to remind everybody the Director has an eye on this one, I expect your fullest cooperation in anything they may need moving forward. If there is nothing further we are adjourned. S.A. Woods, a word in my office.”

 

 

With the dog and pony show over, Lexa was looking forward to a more productive meeting with her direct superior. The first investigative reports are already trickling in from the crime scenes and with them hopefully some new leads on the Azgeda menace, but it seems that she wasn't the only one that has been worked over by the higher ups this morning.

Kane closes the door behind them and goes straight to the point.

“The chiefs may be right Lexa, all eyes are on us on this, we need to bring in another weapon. ”

Lexa rolls her eyes, there has been minimal support for the Azgeda investigation for years and now the paper pushers think they can pull some kind of rabbit from the hat and solve everything in a week. “Fine, I won't refuse help on this. Who is it? Another agency, foreign intelligence?

“No. No, someone else. An inside source.” He hesitates and breaks eye contact pretending to look down to a file on his desk. “I want to bring in Clarke Griffin.”

The name comes like a punch to the gut. “You can't be serious.”

He looks apologetic, but nods. “They hit us hard today Lexa, we could use a break. She was one of the most brilliant analysts in the history of the CIA, knows more about Queen then any...”

“Yeah, she's also a fucking traitor.” Lexa never curses, particularly not in a work environment, she takes pride in her professional conduct. (Anya would call it being a stickler.) She also has a deep respect and even fondness for Kane, who has been something akin of a mentor for her during the last few years, but right not that's all out the window. “That's why she's rotting in a maximum security prison.”

“She worked with Nia, she knows how she thinks. Hell, before that she was point on Azgeda for years at the Agency, who knows what kind of intel she could be sitting on.”

Kane helped her when she was at her lowest, when she considered leaving the Bureau and her entire life behind, he knows what... He should know better...

“She killed people, Kane. Did you forget that?”

There is a long silence, as they both understand perfectly what she really means.

“No.” Lexa turns away, ready to leave. “No, I'm not doing that.”

“I know what she took from you, believe me I do, and I understand. I can transfer the case to a different team, nobody will hold it against you. I just wanted to be fair and give you a heads up first, you've done more then anybody on this.”

“You are not taking this case from me!” She has trouble thinking clearly, she's filled with rage and at the same time painfully aware she's completely out of line. It's all too much.

“It's your choice, but Lexa... Americans are dead, God knows how many more are at risk. I don't suggest it lightly, if there was anything else I wouldn't even bring it up... The way I see it she's the only card we haven't played yet.”

It's true.

It's true, she repeats to herself again. As much as she personally hates it, as much as it feels like a betrayal of everything they stands for, Kane is just doing his job. And asking her to do the same.

Or she could take the out he's offering her. The reason that abrasive asshole earlier tried to butt heads with her is that this case is clearly a career maker, but she doesn't need it. She's one of the best agents in her age group, she's already on track for a prestigious posting. She could just walk away.

She could...

“God dammit Kane.”

He gives her and understanding look, reaches out even, but stops himself. “Listen, I'd like to give you some time to think about it, but that's not possible right now. Regardless, I will have your back, you've more earned the right to write your own ticket in this division. You also have a monster load of vacation days if you need to put some distance between yourself and...”

“No. No, if we are doing this I want it.”

Kane nods and gives over a manila folder.

“The offer stands.”

 

 

Lexa sat in silence between two SWAT agents for the whole helicopter ride, her windbreaker and dark glasses in contrast with their tactical equipment. Opposite her Anya was observing her every move, but she too hadn't breached the subject yet. Until now.

“Are you really doing this?”

Of course she would want to talk about it when agents and pilots were all listening in on them. To be honest she was asking herself the same thing over and over since they'd left the Hoover building. She hadn't thought about herself as fragile for quite some time now, but there had been a time... a time not so long ago when she felt raw, nerves exposed to every little thing that came her way. This felt like a slow backsliding into that fun experience.

“Too late now.” Lexa nodded to the windows, were the flat buildings and wall perimeters of the ADX Polaris Supermax Prison were now in sight. In a matter of minutes they completed their descend and were ushered inside by a very anxious prison staff.

“S.A. Woods and Woods I presume.”

“That's right warden, I'm guessing you've been informed why we are here.”

The balding man nodded vigorously while trying to keep his tie from trashing around in the rotor winds. “We have prepared a visitation room for you to use, I'm sure you are already familiar with regulations about prisoner interactions and such. If there is anything else I can do...”

“That will be all for now, warden. Thank you.”

Inside heavy metal doors buzz open and then fall shut, each one accompanied by the wail of sirens. The group of guards walk a step in front and one behind them, all built like brick walls and with shotguns in hand.

“Sector six, door “A”! Open door!”

At each intersection they call out their location on their radio, until they are at their destination and watch through a one way mirror as two more guards bring in the prisoner in shackles.

There she is. Clarke Griffin.

She’s a stark contrast to the photograph Lexa has studied many times during her work. She’s without makeup, in a beige jumpsuit and cloth slippers, but even here, in the most humiliating, demeaning of circumstances, she looks straight ahead with a dignity she in no way deserves.

She takes a seat and the guards undo her handcuffs long enough to secure her to the table bolted at the center of the room, then they leave. It's time.

A hand touches Lexa's shoulder and she almost jumps out of her skin, but it's just Anya.

“Ready?”

She nods and unclasps her pistol holster. Gun, badge, glasses and almost the entire contents of her pockets end up in a plastic container before she can enter the room. She's about to step over, when one of the guards gestures to her neck and reminds her to take off her necklace also.

She nods and wordlessly does so, depositing the simple silver chain and the ring hanging from it on top of everything else. Then pushes the connecting door open and goes in.

The room is bright white, with fluorescent lights on the ceiling protected by a wire mesh. It takes a moment to get used to it, when Lexa does she finds deep blue eyes already on her.

“Hello Agent Woods.”

She tries her best to remain stone faced. “This won’t take long. I want to be here about as much as you do.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Griffin retorts with a hint of mockery.

Lexa approaches slowly, never taking her eyes off her like you would with a dangerous predator. She leans her hands against her chair but doesn't sit down.

“I’m here to make you an offer. The FBI, under authority of the Department of Justice, is willing to grant you certain concessions in exchange for your cooperation.”

“With what?”

“Nia Queen.”

There is a deliberate pause. Griffin observes her, keeps eye contact longer than is comfortable.

“I haven’t cooperated before. What makes the FBI think I will now?”

So much for a quick in-and-out. Lexa takes her seat.

“You live in a concrete hole miles away from anything, you may as well be on the moon.. They keep you separate from all other prisoners and you haven’t been allowed a visitor in more than three years. But believe it or not, I can still make life worse for you.”

Griffin stays silent, giving nothing away, waiting.

“On the other hand if you decide to be useful we are prepared to renegotiate some of those circumstances. Some personal items perhaps. A one time supervised visit..”

“I'm listening.”

Lexa considers her approach.

“We recently picked up chatter that Nia Queen is planning to carry out another attack on members of the U.S. Intelligence Community. The FBI wants your help to stop it”

A long beat.

“You’re lying.”

“Excuse me?” She grits her teeth.

“We've met before. Agency Christmas Party 2012, 21th of December. You were there with...”

“Don't you dare say it.” Lexa snaps and Griffin genuinely seems abashed for a moment, but she readjusts quickly and carries on.

“The point is, you are going against at least a dozen internal regulations about personal involvement by talking with me. You’re here because you want information about Nia Queen, that much is true, but the FBI would have flown somebody else out if it was for some chatter and speculation.”

She looks to the one-way mirror and the observation room where Anya and the guards is watching, her highly discerning, highly observant mind working like a machine. Then she turns back.

“There was no time. Minor regulations don't matter now, because there is a clock running. The attack has already happened, hasn't it Agent Woods?”

Irritated Lexa pushes her chair back.

“This stuff may impress other people, I'm not here to see parlor tricks or woo you. I was sent here to deliver the message, if you aren't interested I will gladly leave you to it.”

“Wait.” Griffin puts up her hands, but the movement is cut off by her chains. “To be clear, for me to be of any help I'll need access to real time data. The incident reports, forensics, everything. If you plan to have some errand boy bring me a FBI vetted summary you are wasting both of our times.”

“You are in no position to make demands.”

“Those aren't demands, just prerequisites. The demands come now: One fast food meal a week, unrestricted access to the showers and a subscription to a national newspaper of your choice.”

Taken aback by the sudden turn of events it's Lexa's turn to look over to the mirror.

“Acceptable terms, I think.” Griffin goes on. “Feel free to talk it over with your superiors.”

 

 

When Lexa gets back to the observation room Anya shakes her head.

“Who knew that a deal with the devil would be this cheap...”

“Do you think she's messing with us?”

“She's a fucking spook, you can be sure she has some angle in mind, but it could just be that she's fed up with this place and needs a breather. I don't know.”

Absentmindedly Lexa picks up her ring necklace and toys with it while she thinks. She's had hours to push her emotions in a corner and coldly focus on cost-benefit analysis instead, and yet it's still not cut and dry in her mind.

“What would you do?” She asks her sister.

“I don't think you really want to hear that.” She smiles humorless.

“Yeah, probably not... What's the status of the containment unit?”

“Ready if we need it.”

Before she can think any deeper about it she turns to the warden. “We are taking her with us, have your men escort her to the chopper. Special Agent Woods will sign any paperwork you need.”

“I hope you know what you are doing.”

“We'll see.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter is a bit clunky and it isn't proofread, but I just wanted to get this going.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few more characters are thrown in the mix.

“So that's her.”

Tris peeks over her monitor to the elevators, where half a dozen armed guards are marching a chained Clarke Griffin into their bullpen. She looks ordinary, almost small between her handlers, but her eyes are moving in wide sweeps around the office space, taking in every detail of her surrounding while she walks past.

Lincoln just shoots a brief look over his shoulder, then turns his back to her again.

“Mmh, yeah, listen... You should give Lexa and Anya a wide berth for a few days, this thing is pretty stressful for them. Don't be offended if they are a bit... dry.”

Their unit of two dozen agents and technical staff working almost exclusively on the Azgeda case is housed in an unlisted annex independent from the main FBI. Since the only way to get the transfer of a maximum security prisoner approved to their custody was to offer the same standard of secure housing, a crew of specialized workers had over night poured a new foundation of reinforced concrete in their basement and built a cell of 3 inch thick ballistic glass framed in steel beams on top of it. Six cameras and eight dedicated guards will work around the clock to assure that their charge stays put. And the entire circus is under their supervision.

She turns to Lincoln.

“Anya Woods being dry? Imagine that.”

A smile flashes briefly on his face. “Yeah well give it time, she grows on you. You ready?”

To be honest she's a bit queasy, but she's not about to admit that, she's still new around here, barely more then a trainee. Instead she takes her tablet from it's loading station and nods.

“As I'll ever be. Let's go.”

 

“...restraints at all time. Two guards will accompany you on the office floor and stay in the room while you work. Any file you want to look at you ask, you don't take anything on your own, even if it's laying right there in front of you. You'll be searched every evening and whenever there is the slightest suspicion, or we simply feel like it.”

They've sat her down in a conference room for the time being, blinds are closed, monitors dead. A lawyer is going over the terms but she's only half listening. On her left two medics pull a steel cart closer and prep an injection device. They roll up her sleeve, disinfect her forearm and push the needle in. She flinches for just a moment.

“Don't try to dig the tracker out, it's implanted deep in the muscle tissue, all you'll do is mangle your arm and possibly bleed out.”Agent Woods warns.

On transit to the city Clarke watched the rage boiling inside her slowly cool down to a glacier like focus. Still en route she made a number of calls to her people in the field, even listening to only one side of the conversation it was clear she commanded deep respect and loyalty from them, giving precise instructions and never using two words when one would suffice.

Now that a decision had been made she would play it out to the end.

Standing beside her, a few feet away from the medics is the woman that arrested her five years ago. Her badge also says Woods. Sisters probably, adoptive. Clearly she's not on board with what's happening here. Looks over every few minutes to check how her sister is dealing with it all. A very close relationship.

Behind her a door opens and two more agents fill in. The first one to enter her vision is a young woman , brunette, expensive suit. Tailor made but not too flashy. Family money. Fresh from Quantico and with technical expertise, judging from the tablet she's holding. The other...

“Rangers.” Woods says.

Clarke looks over.

“You are looking at Agent Forrester's watch. Tactical G-Shock, so you figure former military but you are not sure which unit. It's Rangers. Tris?”

The rookie tabs a bit on her tablet and nods. “Tracker is operational.”

“Good. You can leave us.” As everybody except the four agents takes their leave, she turns to the matter at hand. “Were are we on the car shooting in Philly?”

The military man fishes a notepad from his inner pocket. “Witnesses report seeing two men riding motorcycles, they used automatic weapons found farther down the street after the fact, but no license plates or description of the drivers. Guns seem clean too.”

“Video?”

Tris shakes her head. “There is no useful footage. No security cameras on the scene, just a few scattered ones in the wider area. We are combing through now, but it's not likely much will come of of it.”

“What about the office bombing in New York, what do we know?”

“Not a lot. Forensics is still working on the cause of the explosion. It's a mess.”

“The hit at Union Square?”

“Metro PD is still processing the scene, same thing with the gun: Found close by, looks clean. Could be tomorrow morning until we get something useful from CSI, if at all. No direct image of the shooter's face. Description is of white man, around 5'8”, short brown hair. Could be literary anybody.”

“It's been 18 hours and we have absolutely nothing actionable.”

“You are dealing with Nia Queen,” It's still strange to hear her own voice, Clarke hasn't used it much in the last few years. It feels scratchy and foreign, but she doesn't' let herself linger on it. “she knows how your investigation works and how to beat it. It's why she's still out there. To find her, you have to pull on threads you’ve never thought to look for before.”

There is a beat of silence.

“I can help you catch her, Agent Woods. If you let me.”

Agent Woods takes her in, she clearly doesn't like it, but...

“Anya, give her anything she needs.” She quickly shakes her head to stop any protest from the other agent. “Just do it.”

The second Woods isn't pacified though, as soon as her sister leaves she steps up closer and shoves the files in her chest.

“Preliminary reports of the attacks. Personal files of the victims.”

“Paper copies?”

“No network access. Ever. Get used to it blondie. If you need to google the weather, you ask agent Thornton over there. And I'll be keeping an eye on you personally. Maybe you are really here to help... Or maybe it's all just delaying tactics to keep us from following the real leads. Once a traitor, always a traitor.”

“Yes. I could be lying to slow you down on your hot pursuit. Looks like you are doing great.”

Not dignifying her dig with an answer, she leaves too and slams the door shut.

 

It's been hours without shit to show for it and for some reason Lexa can't concentrate on anything today, her mind always drifting over to the opaque conference room and who's inside. All she wants is to get her umpteenth cup of coffe from the breakroom and be left alone, when she feels somebody pass behind her.

She checks, it's Lincoln. “Hey boss, listen...”

“Mmh.” She grunts, hoping her colleague gets the hint.

“... I was thinking of hitting the gym after shift. You in?”

She closes her eyes for a second and fights smiles. Thank god for Lincoln Forrester and his unique way to sum up an entire complicated conversation in an easy to digest morsel.

“Not today, Linc. How about tomorrow?”

“Yeah, we can do that.” All the while he's preparing his own cup. “If you change your mind later, just call. I don't mind if it's late.”

“I'll keep that in mind.... Thanks.” She says sincerely.

“Sure thing.”

And off he goes, quick and easy. If only her sister could take a page from him.

 

Tris looks up to the wall-mounted clock.

They've been here for ages, just her and Clarke Griffin and boredom has started to win over anxiety to be honest. The former CIA officer hasn't said much, just poring over the documents and taking unreadable notes on the margins. She doesn't look like somebody capable of all those horrible things, she thought while watching her work, but she was a spook so being unassuming is probably part of her game. Lost in thought she is startled when Clarke looked up suddenly, catching her.

“I have something, but they won't take it from me.”

Trying to keep it together Tris cleared her throat before speaking.

“What do you mean?”

“I need access to the roster of Operation Midas.”

She huffs, almost laughing. “No.”

“That's what I thought. Listen, I don't know who told Agent Wood to go fetch me, but I know it wasn't her idea.” She keeps her penetrating stare on Tris until she nods, admitting the obvious, then continues. “She'll think everything I say is a trap. She will try to keep me in the dark as much as possible and scrutinize everything that comes from me two or three times to make sure it tracks. Problem is, by then it won't matter anymore.”

“Well maybe it's the smart thing to do.” Tris retorts offended for her boss, who is a brilliant and highly respected agent and most certainly not the paranoid control freak that traitor is trying to make her out to be. One day Tris hopes to be as awesome as Lexa Woods.

“I will walk you though something now, then you decide what to do, ok?”

She doesn't respond and puts on a brave face.

“These killings... It's all small potatoes.”

“That's a horrible thing to say.”

“If you want to be an analyst you have to think like one. Leave your soul at the door, it won't do you any good. Focus instead. These...” She pushes a stack of files over, “are all pawns, small game. Azgeda is an outfit that prides itself on it's small footprint and moving undetected. You following?”

“Y-yes, I think so.”

“It doesn't make any sense whatsoever for them to show their hand to kill a few mid level public servants.”

“But they did.” Tris mumbles, already frustrated with the conversation.

“Exactly, but they did. It looks like everything went smoothly, but there is always a risk involved. Equipment failure. A camera you didn't see during stake out. Bad weather even. The most stupid thing and an operation tanks, somebody gets arrested, rolls on the others...”

“So?”

“So you evaluate risk against reward...”

“I get what you are saying, I'm not stupid.” She snaps, “I meant what does that say to you.”

“Shelter, Assess, Realign Operation.” Griffin goes on unfazed

“What?”

“It's a CIA doctrine. Some of the members of a task force have been hit, but it's still operational. The Agency isn't big on retreating when it gets a bloody nose, first they'll put all the other members in protective custody and wait for the threat to be over...”

“Seems it is.”

“Exactly. Almost 24 hours, no new attacks. Now they'll meet to reorganize and continue working.”

“So...”

“So they'll all be in the same place at the same time. And since there will be people from Treasury and Justice it will be off campus somewhere, not at Langley. Somewhere reachable.”

“Making it the perfect target to take the task force off the board.”

“And a worthwhile risk to begin with.”

“You think they have this kind of reach?

For the first time the woman shows a bit of emotion, nodding resolutely. “They do.”

Tris looks down to her tablet, going over everything she's heard now, searching for the lie. The slow clicking of the clock echoes loudly in her thoughts while she tries to decide.

“It's the only thing that makes sense. Now you decide if you have to bring this to her.”

The rookie picks up her things and runs out the room.

 

Left in an empty room Clarke stands and walks over to peer through the blinds. The team is quickly preparing to move out, Woods already on her phone, no doubt yelling her way to the address of the meeting. It may be too late, or maybe not, hard to say. Does she care? She's honestly not sure.

“Good luck.” She whispers as the guards come in to take her to the basement.

 

Getting somebody to open up about the meeting was like pulling teeth. Lexa had been literally moments away fromthreatening somebody at the District Attorney's office with physical violence when Kane called her back on the other line with the place.

“Should be right here up the street.” Anya informs her and screeches their SUV to a halt. A second one stops right besides them and Lincoln jumps out, already wearing his bulletproof vest.

“Tris, perimeter. Have local PD make it a wide one, we don't know what's in there yet. Anya, I need you to coordinate with EOD. Linc, you are with me.”

They grab assault rifles from the trunk and run up the steps of the ritzy office building. Inside two very alarmed porters are being pushed out to the street by a suited man waving a private security badge.

“We've got your call, Agent Woods.” He calls over the other two men. “Nobody went in or out since, but the building is full of businesses. There are a few hundred people inside at least.”

“How many in your security team?”

“I've got twelve currently here. What can we do?”

Ideally nothing, Lexa thinks. In a perfect world she would have her own people to count on, not these washed out policemen and twitchy vets in ties. Sadly they are still en route.

“The target is Ark Investment, twentieth floor. Have you tried to call up?”

“Yes, nobody answered.”

She nods, they did the same and didn't get through either.

“I want you and your men to quietly evacuate the floor above and below, while Agent Forrester and I go and take a look. And deactivate the elevators after we went up please.”

“Yes ma'am.”

She claps the man on the back and they jog to one of the four chrome elevators. The doors close behind them and they start the climb while eerily cheerful elevator music plays from the speakers.

“Why do they meet at an investment firm again?” Lincoln asks after a few moments, just to break the tense silence up.

“It's a CIA front apparently.” she tells him, keeping her eyes fixed on the doors.

“What are you thinking? Shooter? Explosive?”

“Honestly?” She looks over to the man, “If we are lucky it's just a big ugly inter-agency mess for putting our noses where they don't belong.”

“You don't really believe that.”

Ding. The doors opens and Lincoln pushes outside, his weapon pointed in front. After a moment he signs with his hand that the hallway is empty.

“No, I don't.” Lexa tells the empty elevator and follows suit.

 

Since there is only two of them Lexa decided not to announce their presence and proceed with caution. Ark Investment takes up a whole floor of the building, but most of it's offices are empty. They are all furnished though, probably so they can fill them with extras at a moment's notice when they need to look like a real firm, so she and Lincoln have to clear them one by one.

Like a well oiled machine they sneak in and out of the glass boxes until they reach a corner. A quick look outside the floor to ceiling windows tells them that the reinforcements have finally arrived and are swarming the building. Good.

“Take left. Toilets.” She whispers, and they carry on.

Lincoln pushes the door open, checks the main room, then turns around to cover their rear. Lexa slips inside and switches to her sidearm. One careful step after the next she approaches each stall in turn. Empty. Empty. Contact!

The wooden door opens before her hand can reach it. Instinctively she reaches forward and grabs a wrist, yanking the person to the floor.

“FBI! Show me your hands!”

She's aware of Lincoln shifting position to cover her as she turns them, coming face to face with an alarmed young woman in a pencil skirt and now disheveled blouse.

“What is going on?” She yelps, trying to squirm away.

Even though she's not exactly the image of a dangerous terrorist, Lexa doesn't let it distract her.

“I need to see identification. Now!”

The girl claws blindly at her chest until she finds her lanyard and holds it up. Ontari Scott, Junior Analyst at Ark Investment. There is a photograph of her, much happier and put together.Added to a reasonable expectation that her office attire doesn't hide any weapons, Lexa decides to let go of her arms and helps her up.

“Who else is on this floor?”

“J-just the partners having a meeting, but since they are discussing privileged information I.. I have to ask you to see your warrant please.” She stammers.

“You can quit the bullshit, we know about the task force. We have reason to believe Azgeda knows too and are planning to finish what they started. Take us to them!”

Ontari draws in one's breath and gestures them to follow, but before they can their radio comes to life with Anya's voice.

“It's a bomb Lex, the dogs picked up the scent in the lobby.”

She and Lincoln exchange a quick look, then she pushes the button on her chest.

“Got it.”

“Could be on a timer or remotely activated if they have a spotter nearby.” Lincoln adds.

“In that case they've probably seen us through the windows.”

“Be careful.” The radio crackles.

She doesn't respond and rushes out after Ontari.

“Forget the meeting room, I need the nearest fire alarm.”

The girl points over to the wall and Lexa uses her gun to smash the glass. As soon as the loud sirens start to wail doors open farther down the hall.

“FBI! There is a bomb in the building!” She yells. “Evacuate immediately!” It takes a moment for them to make out what said, so she steps waves her badge at them for good measure and points to the door. “Bomb!”

That does it, they start to run.

“Stairs! Stairs!” She tries to direct them.

Her radio lets out a earsplitting peep. Instinctively she turns around and puts an arm over the girl besides her, then she's knocked off her feet in a rain of glass shards.

 

EMTs bring out another stretcher, she's lost count of how many that makes. Slowly looking around the cordoned off street she watches medics, firefighters and cops run around and do their thing. Before they close the doors she can see a body in the back of an ambulance, bloodstained sheet laid out over it. She presses her eyes closed for a moment.

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” Anya pushes her shoulder.

“What?” Lexa looks over from where they've sat her down.

“You should get yourself checked over, you look like hell.”

“Already did. No concussion, just a punctured eardrum and some scrapes. There were four walls between us and the explosion Anya, I'm fine.”

“Lincoln said the same damn thing, I swear to God you two...”

“Just give me the sit rep.”

“Three dead, a few serious injuries, but all in all it could have gone much much worse. Obviously there isn't much we can say about the device itself right now, but it was inside the room. There are security tapes, Tris is already on it.”

“Good, now...” She tries to stand up, but her sister keeps her down.

“Now you sit yourself in the car and coordinate everything from there or I'll drive you home right this moment. Those are your two options.” Lexa opens her mouth, but Anya barrels on. “Or third option, I go snitching to Kane and you get yourself a few weeks of medical leave. I'm serious.”

They exchange glares for a moment.

“Fine. Car. Help me up.”

 

Lexa is exhausted when she finally stumbles into her empty apartment. They've spent hours on the scene trying to squeeze some forensic evidence from the rubble, checking cameras and canvasing for witnesses. Still nothing.

She throws her keys on the table and shrugs off her jacket, rubbing her sore shoulder. No need to check the fridge to know there is nothing edible there, but she plans to do so anyway when her phone starts to ring.

She reaches blindly for it and carefully moves it over to her good ear. “What?”

“Agent Woods? It's Quint.” A moment of hesitation. “The prisoner has escaped.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not proofread.


	3. Chapter 3

The grainy cctv footage shows Clarke Griffin as she collapses to the floor and starts to shake violently. A few moments pass and agents appear in frame, cautiously opening the cell and checking if she’s just pretending, before realizing she is not and crowding around her. A large first aid kit gets retrieved, then quickly after a stretcher and they carry her out.

The footage ends and the tablet goes black, showing Lexa her scratched up face.

“We found this in her pocket.” Quint holds up a small plastic bag with half a white pill inside.

“Aspirin?”

The bald agent nods. “According to her medical file she’s violently allergic, so the assumption was she somehow got her hands on a bunch of them and tried something.”

“But she didn’t.”

“No, probably took only the missing half of this one. Just what she needed to make the symptoms real enough to fool the agents and get our emergency response protocol engaged. Epinephrine injection and priority transport to the pre-approved hospital. The vehicle was secure, everything without a hitch, but then…”

“Then you let her escape from under your nose, you dumbass.”

“Anya! Not helping.”

They are all gathered in a small examination room at the George Washington University Hospital, a sad bunch of tired faces and crumpled suits ready for the day to be over. Anya isn't ready to let it go though:

“As far as we know she warned Nia’s people and almost got you blown up. That means Quint here is directly responsible...”

“No she didn’t, I checked.” Lexa steps in before it can go any further, “According to logs the medical emergency wasn’t called in until hours after I was _almost blown up._ It’s far more likely she used it as a distraction, knowing we would be stretched thin.”

Her sister just scoffs and keeps glaring at Quint.

“Let’s keep cool heads and work this out, ok? First things first, why isn’t the tracker working?”

Like so often Lincoln has an answer for her, but even he seems tired.

“She swiped the keys from a janitor and took one of those leaded aprons they use for x rays. It can apparently be used it to smother the signal.”

“Great.” Who the hell thinks of something like that?

“Then she walked right into the nurses locker room, stole a few hundred dollars of cash and a set of scrubs. Maybe some ID also, we’re checking with the owners to see if anything else is missing.”

“So she has everything she needs to get away clean.”

“It’s almost as if she was trained to do this sort of thing.” Anya chimes in just to be helpful.

It's a far too real reminder that they aren't dealing with a normal fugitive, Clarke Griffin won't make stupid mistakes or loose time trying to work out her next step. She already had a clear plan when they walked her into the FBI, everything she did from the first moment had a reason.

“So, do we go wide?” Quint asks, desperate to redeem himself in her eyes.

“No wait, I have to talk to Kane, the operation wasn’t exactly… an open book. I'm pretty sure the last thing he needs right now is media exposure and I can do without being the agent that let America's worst traitor free. Clean up here, confiscate all copies of the security footage, I need a moment.”

Lexa looks down to the linoleum floor, where a pair of handcuffs lay open, picked with what looks like an IV needle. Her head spins and she has to brace herself against a desk.

 

“Anya? A word.”

“What?”

Everybody else is moving out, but Lexa waits until the door clicks shut and she is sure they are alone.

“I need you to be… less of an asshole.”

“What?” Anya repeats, more forcefully.

“I’m serious, An. I know it’s all fucked up, but you aren't helping. The last thing we need is to lose our own people for petty shit like insulting them. I know that’s how you normally talk, they know it too, but right now we’re all tense and somebody could take it the wrong way.”

Her sister takes a moment, thinks her words over maybe, and Lexa isn't honestly sure if she's about to explode in her face right there. Another moment passes.

“I don’t get how you do that.” She says then calmly, deflated almost.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, just turn it off. I know you were ready to rip someone's throat out this morning, yesterday morning... When Kane told you to get Griffin I mean. But then you flipped a switch and it’s like nothing touches you at all. You always do it when you need to and I’m just saying… wish I could do that too, you know? How do you do it?”

Lexa rubs her forehead, unsure how to answer.

“Lots of practice.” She settles on.

“I’ll try not to kill anybody... if you do me a favor and go rest for a bit. It’s BOLOs and airport checks for a while now anyway I guess, anybody can do that. I can oversee it, call you if anything pops up, scout's honor.”

“Fine, deal. I'll be in my office though.”

She pushes the door open and walks, staggers more like, to the elevators.

“God forbid you ever use your bed.” Anya calls after her. “Get yourself checked out, will you? You are in a hospital, for God's sake!”

 

After having dealt with her stubborn sister Anya tries and fails to send Lincoln home too, then organizes the rest of the agents at her disposal. Master spy or common criminal, there isn't that much difference when they are on the run, all her tricks won't spare her from having to leave the state.

Airports, trains, buses. She tries to put eyeballs on all of them.

“Come on people, there is no time to spare. Coordinate your search quadrants with Agent Forrester and keep your radios on at all time.”

Since apparently they can't go public with the truth she writes up a kind of vague description of Clarke Griffin and marks her down as possibly armed and dangerous. Not to approach, but immediately inform the FBI. The last thing they need is a beat cop trying to take her in and getting himself killed.

“We'll check each and every sighting, I don't care how unreliable they sound. Nobody goes home until the bitch is back in her cage.” The agents all nod. “And God help me if any of you calls Lexa, I'm gonna...”

She takes a breath and looks over to Lincoln, who supplies:

“Supervisory Special Agent Woods isn't reachable, all your calls go through us for the moment.”

“What he said.” Again nods.

“Go!”

“Agent Woods? There is a call...”

“I'm coming, I'm coming.” How the fuck does Lexa manage this constant circus?

 

\- - -

 

The sun tickles Lexa's face through closed eyelids. She's still in bed, stretching her legs around under the comfortable sheets with no real intention to get up. Life is good.

“I don't really know how she does it, if I'm being honest. It's... incredible.” A voice says from the adjoining bathroom.

“Should I be jealous? You talk about here a lot.” She calls over, voice still raspy from sleep.

“No, stupid.” Comes the prompt answer, muffled by the toothbrush she's using. “I'm just saying...” The water goes on briefly. “...it's a lot on her plate, it's not like her work is easy.”

“It's the same one you do, isn't it?”

“That's what I'm saying! I mean, I barely have time to take care of you...”

“Hey!” Lexa finally opens her eyes, just to playfully glare over to the bathroom door. “You do not have to take care of me! I'm perfectly capable of being on my own.”

There is a laugh, a beautiful laugh, but it's interrupted when somebody knocks on the door.

On her office door.

 

Somebody knocks on her office door and Lexa jerks up from the couch.

“Mmmyeah?” She calls out, so Tris sticks her head in.

“Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't think you were resting, I can...”

“Come in Tris, what is it?” She asks straightening her shirt. Normally she would probably have shot the young woman an encouraging smile, today she just waves vaguely to take a seat.

“I think... I... She got that aspirin from me, Agent Woods.”

Lexa doesn't respond right away, it takes her a moment to understand what she just heard and Tris must take it as silent judgment on her part, because she quickly goes on.

“I had a bottle in my pocket. I… She got me worked up on purpose with that stuff on the second attack so I wouldn’t notice, lower my attention on the surroundings. She played me for a fool, I am terribly sorry and I understand if there were consequences. I just..”

“We’re a chronically overworked and understaffed office, Agent Thornton. There is aspirin literally everywhere around here. And she’s an experienced field officer. All of us should have been more careful, it's not on you shoulders.”

“But…” The rookie looks up, unsure.

“Just... be more careful next time.”

“Y-yes of course, I will. Again, I'm really sorry.”

“Yeah well, it's not our finest day... Can you do something for me?”

“Anything.” She shoots back, a little too quickly.

Lexa has to smile at her eagerness, remembering her own start at the bureau and how desperate she was to prove herself. Some things never change.

“Get me everything we have on Griffin. A lot will be redacted, stuff the CIA sent over and darkened the hell out of, but I want it anyway. There is something we're missing here.”

“I can do that.” She nods.

“Thank you. Bring it here when it's ready.”

 

\- - - -

 

The phone on her desk rings and Lexa answers it without looking.

“Special Agent Woods speaking.”

“I'm really really sorry love, I've got to take a rain check on our dinner tonight.”

Just hearing her voice makes a smile blossom on Lexa's face. She hums to let Costia know she's heard her, the phone clasped between shoulder and ear while she tries to gather up the files spread out all over her work space. “You don't seem that broken up about it to be honest.”

Costia laughs and it's music to her ears. “No!” She huffs mock offended. “I am! I was looking forward to it, had the dress ready and everything.”

“What is it, Cos?”

“Griffin has a family emergency and asked me to sit in on a meeting in her stead. It's a big deal, there will be a lot of important people there. Important... stuff will be decided.”

It's always fun to hear her stumble over the things she can't talk about. “Can't the hot shot do it?"

“Out of country.”

“He's already on vacation?”

“About that Lex, I forgot to tell you, he's good. We don't hate him anymore.”

“Come on Cos, he transferred in and stole your promotion from under you because his dad is a senator, we are totally allowed to keep a grudge for a bit longer. I'm with you all the way, I could have his car towed if you want. That's always fun.” She teases.

Laughter again. “As if you would ever bend the rules... No seriously, listen: I talked to him and he seems like a stand-up guy. Plus I have it on good authority that his dad wanted him in politics, not intelligence. He's legit, got the post fair and square.”

“If you say so...”

“I do. And he's not on vacation.”

“But you can't tell me any more then that.”

“Or I'd have to kill you, Lex, and you know.. that would be hard. Because I love you.”

“Fine, rain check on the dinner then. See you at home?”

“Not if I see you first!”

“Hey, wait!” Lexa calls out at the last moment.

The line disconnects.

 

The phone on her desk rings and Lexa she scrambles up to answer it.

“Are you still there?” She asks desperately.

“Agent Woods? It's Ontari Scott.”

“Oh, sorry.” She deflates, scolding herself for her confusion and all that irrational hope she'd felt for a moment. Maybe she really hit her head. “Mrs. Scott, what can I do for you?”

“Well first of all I'd like to thank you for what you did yesterday. I didn't get the chance to on the scene, but I think it has to be said: You saved my life.”

“Just doing my job, but I'm glad you are well.”

“Yes, thanks to you I'm already back at work. As are you. No rest for the wicked.”

“Yes.” Unsure where this is going Lexa just waits, the line staying silent for a moment before the CIA officer talks again.

“This brings me for the official reason I'm calling. The Agency is asking for a debriefing with your team about the attack and the future of the Azgeda investigation. Operation Midas and all that. My superior expressed her wish to to have a word as soon as possible.”

“Can I ask...”

“Directorate of Operations.”

“I see. Yes of course, what did you have in mind?”

“Tomorrow at four? There at the Hoover building if it's ok with you.”

The FBI switchboard transfers all ingoing calls for them directly to their satellite office without informing the caller, Ontari probably assumes that's where Lexa is right now.

“That works, I'll arrange passes for you at the lobby. See you tomorrow then.”

“Have a nice day Agent Woods, and thanks again.”

 

\- - -

 

“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. What the fuck are you doing, Clarke?”

She's sitting on a subway station bench, wrapped in an old hoodie she got from goodwill. Between the light tremors she has because of the epinephrine and her constant mumbling nobody want to come to close, which is perfectly fine with her. Her hands are stashed deep in her pockets, the right one wrapped around a cheap burner phone she bought.

“This isn't the plan, what are you doing?”

She got the phone not thirty minutes after leaving the hospital, all she has to do is call the number she knows by heart and it's done. On the first ring it's done, she doesn't even have to wait for somebody to pick up. It's the whole reason she agreed to this stupid thing.

Then why hasn't she?

“Stupid! The most stupid thing and an operation tanks, you've said it to that girl today!” Talking to herself helps to ride out the after effects of the injection and keep herself focused. “Then why the fuck? Why? The? Fuck?”

Finally making up her mind she stands up and promptly runs into a douchey looking guy in khakis, who makes and indignant noise and swats her away.

“Sorry.” She mumbles and takes the stairs up.

As soon as she reaches daylight she takes the smartphone she just swiped out and runs a quick google search while walking. After repeating the address she found a few times in her head she deletes her search history, wipes her prints down and disposes of it in a trash can.

“Most stupid fucking thing is your middle name.” She mumbles. “This isn't going to end well.”

And she melts into the crowd of commuters.

 

\- - -

 

Lexa is in her parked car, listening to music and watching people go by. It's a nice summer day, so she doesn't mind getting here a little early, it's a nice contrast to her often hectic work days. Her cell vibrates on the seat besides her and she checks it.

“Be right out.” The message reads.

Looking over to the nearby building she doesn't see them yet, but nonetheless she turns the radio off and gets out. It's hot, so she has discarded her jacket and rolled up the sleeves of her button down.

She looks down to her watch. If they get on the road soon they'll be there for dinner.

There they are. Among a bunch of other suits her eyes catch three women. Costia looks over briefly, waving at her, but keeps talking to the other two, a blonde and a brunette. Work. Work. Work. The only reason she can't every get mad at her girlfriend's devotion to it is that she isn't that different.

The blonde is her boss, Lexa knows, the famous Clarke Griffin. Costia's personal hero.

She looks down to her watch again. Maybe if they make a good time they'll be there before dark.

“Hey! I'm coming!” Costia calls over from afar.

Lexa just gestures to take her time, and the brunette says something that makes all three of them laugh. She can't hear what it was, did she ask Costia afterwards? Probably, but she can't remember.

Now the impromptu after-meeting is finally over and she comes running.

“Ready to go?”

Lexa nods, about to say something, about to embrace her... but she looks over her shoulder.

She looks over to the blonde. Why?

“Have you been waiting long?”

“Don't worry about it...” She starts to answer, but she's distracted. Still watching Griffin.

She waves to the brunette, crosses the street to her own car...

What is she doing? Why is it important?

“Lexa?” Costia asks.

There is something bulky in the backseat. It's hard to look against the sun, make out details, but it looks like a children's car seat.

 

Lexa opens her eyes. Tris must have come by while she was out again, because a thick stack of manila folders is perched on her desk. She rushes over to search through them, through lines and lines of black bars until she finds what she is looking for.

Punching the numbers violently on the landline she call's Anya.

“Hey, no real news yet, but...”

“I know where she is.” She croaks, “Get me four unmarked cars and plain clothes agents to fill them, I want to do this quietly. Call them on their cell, no radio.”

“Should I be worried?”

“I don't think so, but I'm not sure.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned: This is the most rushed one yet...   
> I'm really looking forward to your theories and speculations, those are my favorite comments.
> 
> Enjoy


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, this was a complex chapter and I felt like taking a few more days to get it right.
> 
> While we are on the topic, I'm also sorry for the confusion some of you felt reading the last chapter, especially regarding the sneaky flashbacks. While it was 100% my intention to make them sudden and difficult to spot, like a window in Lexa's half concussed mind if you will, I may have gone a bit overboard judging by your comments. 
> 
> You live and learn.

It's a roomy and well lived in apartment with large windows on the fourth floor of a complex. Clarke has imagined it countless nights, but it's the first time she's ever seen it for herself so she tries to take every detail in at once. There are pictures on the fridge, toys scattered around the living room floor and a pink backpack hanging from a hook near the door.

Currently all three occupants are home: One window frames a middle aged blonde woman working in the kitchen while, another shows a young man with the same hair and features watches TV and her little angel at a messy corner desk. She's seven now, so grown up, yet tiny. Clarke smiles and fights tears watching her focus on what's probably her homework, pig tails bobbing around while she writes in big loopy movements.

Abby calls something, and her brother and daughter start setting the table for dinner. There seems to be a moment of discussion, but at her instance Madi gets to bring her own plate over and even though she wobbles a bit on the way she manages without spilling and gets a high five by Aden in return. They are happy.

Clarke looks down to the cellphone she's still clutching in her hand. Can she really?

She's sitting huddled against an aluminum ventilation shaft on the roof of a building on the opposite side of the street. It's dark out, so she should be invisible to the family inside their well lit apartment, but just to be sure she's kept the hood up and staid in the shadows.

“You are being so fucking stupid right, Griffin. What are you even doing here?”

And then it finally happens, what she'd been dreading since she decided to take this stupid risk. The roof access behind her bangs open, light filtering out, and multiple people climb up. At least three pairs of tactical boots move on the gravel and she hears guns click.

“FBI, hands where I can see them.”

Clarke doesn't look away from the apartment.

“How did you find me?” She asks, not really interested.

“Wasn't that hard once I remembered you had a kid.” Of course Lexa Woods is here personally to drag her back in. “Abigail Griffin adopted a girl of the same age just months after your arrest, you must have had the paperwork ready to go.”

“Mh.” She risks a quick glance and sees two agents covering the woman from the door, Lincoln Forrester and another bald one, while Woods carefully walks closer.

“You knew we were closing in, didn’t you? You had most traces of her expunged from your record, with the mess of redactions your file is anyway there isn't much left of her to see.”

There is a bead of silence. “It's better that way.”

Lexa is surprised by Clarke's change in tone from their previous conversations, there is a heavy sadness hanging in her tone and demeanor now, and she can't help but be a little moved. The entire reason Griffin accepted to work with her was probably to see her daughter one more time.

“You did what you could to give her a normal life.”

There is an almost imperceptible nod from under the hood. “I tried.”

“Then surrender peacefully. We can take the back stairs, nobody will see. You can leave all of them unharmed by this. They will never know, I give you my word.”

Griffin turns a bit to her, even with half her face hidden she feels the calculating stare.

“Give me a minute?” She asks with no malice, but then she turns a bit more and light hits the chrome body of the cellphone, alerting Lexa to it.

In an instant her gun is drawn.

“Drop the phone, drop the phone!” She commands. Lincoln and Quint fawn out from the door to better cover their superior, cutting off any possible escape route.

“Just a minute, Agent Woods.”

“Drop it!” She demands again.

“No.”

“Last warning.”

“Listen Woods, I’m not ready to go and I won’t give up the phone. I'm pretty sure you won't shoot me in the back, but if I have misjudged you, be my guest. I’m sure you’ll get a medal.”

There it is again, Griffin's infuriating arrogance.

“I won’t.” Lexa lowers the gun, keeping it ready. “But I will walk over there and drag you out in cuffs myself, perp walk you kicking and screaming right in front of your daughter if necessary. It will be all she remembers of you for the rest of her life. Is that what you want?”

“You won’t.” She answers unfazed. “Not as long as I'm holding the phone, you won't put your fellow agents in danger. Nice try though.”

The nerve! Any compassion she may have momentarily felt for the traitor is gone, anger taking her over completely. There may be thousands of pages written about how an agent should conduct a negotiation in similar circumstances, but in the moment Lexa speaks from her heart.

“Who do you think you are?” She yells. “You don’t get visitation rights! You sold out everything you swore to protect. You lied. You killed. And made a boatload of money along the way, so don't expect me to fall for your sob stories. You aren't some poor mother...”

Clarke pushes her hood down and tries to say something, but Lexa isn't done.

“You are a monster!”

The blonde grits her teeth in anger and yells back.

“Do you want me to say it? Yes I killed her! I killed Costia, and Wells, and all of them! You are right, I am a monster, but all the same: either you shoot or you wait!”

Then after a pause, “There is nothing else to say.”

Lexa lifts the gun and aligns the shot, but hesitates.

“We can have a cell phone jammer here in 15 minutes, Agent Woods.” Tris informs her via her earpiece. “Maybe 10 if the streets are clear.”

“If you can keep her attention on you, Agent Woods, I have a clear line to get to the device before she activates it.” Quint offers, Lincoln in the corner of her eye shakes his head though.

Griffin in the meantime has turned back to watching her daughter.

Lexa tries to do the math in her head. What are the chances there are explosives on the other end of that phone line? Or that it will send information that Nia can use to hurt more innocents? The prisoner has been in isolation for years, but she's been on the run for more then ten hours now, a lot can happen in ten hours. Has she made contact with Azgeda?

She's far from a satisfying decision, when Clarke takes a deep breath and pushes a button.

Acting on pure instinct Lexa lets her gun fall to the ground and rushed forward, tackling Clarke. The phone goes flying, the blonde bumps hard against the ventilation shaft and is immobilized. Lincoln runs up to help, while Quint goes for the cell phone.

The night remains silent. No explosions.

“What is it?”

“Phone call. Unlisted. No response.” Quint tells her, then hangs up and closes it.

“Tris, run the number!”

Across the street a plate crashed to pieces on the floor. Alerted by the sudden movement the agents look up and see Abby with all the color drained from her face, porcelain pieces at her feet. For a moment Lexa thinks she's seen them, but no, instead she opens a cupboard and rummages in it for a second before pulling out another burner phone.

“What did you do?” Lexa demands, but Clarke hangs limply from her hold and doesn't respond. After a moment a sob shakes her body, her face pressed to the cold metal.

“What?” She urges again.

“Now I am like you.” Griffin shipers. “Alone.”

Across the street things have flown in high gear. Abby pulls already packed duffle bags from the closet, while Aden opens a small safe and takes a gun and some magazines out. He stores the weapon out of sight in the luggage before they get Madi and pack quickly gather some of her stuff as well. The girl seems confused, scared even at the sudden need to leave.

“Where are they going?”

It takes a moment for Clarke to answer, now turned away from her family.

“Into hiding, where nobody can find them. Not even me.”

A former surgeon turned private practitioner wouldn't have that kind of resources. The brother was in the military for a minute, but he too would not be prepared for anything like this, Griffin must have left instructions, IDs, passports, contacts... It's a plan years in the making, she realizes.

“Why?”

Griffin bucks under her with a wild look in her eyes, trying to push her way free, or maybe just to hurt her. She's never seen her loose her cool like this.

“Because you came to me and made them targets, that's why! Because of you!”

With Lincoln's help there is no chance to escape their hold, but she keeps trashing around all the same, her voice cracking.

“She was safe! It's your fault!”

Lexa looks down on her with a lump in the throat. The apartment on the other side of the street is empty now, a car pulls out of the garage just a few moments later.

“Take her away.”

“We have the the Griffins' car, want us to stop it?” Anya asks on the radio.

She watches Lincoln heave the woman up and pull a pair of cuffs from his belt. Her long blonde hair hangs in her face, the shoulders slumped down in defeat.

“No, let them leave. We have what we came for. Let's go home.”

The men start to walk the prisoner over to the stairs without her objecting, but before they reach the door she stops for a moment, shaking their arms off and turns to Lexa.

“I hope you enjoy your revenge.”

Then she turns and walks down on her own.

\- - -

Lexa finally gets some sleep, even if it's mostly restless and haunted by strange dreams. When her alarm finally goes off late in the morning and she drags herself off the mattress she's still sore and instead of her usual work out routine she settles on a long warm shower.

The water in the drain is light pink.

In a towel she checks her phone to make sure there are no new emergencies, then picks out a suit and slowly gets dressed. The gun she's had to hold more often then what she's comfortable with in the last few days goes in its holster, the badge on her belt.

She looks in the mirror, a beaten up but determined FBI agent looks back.

Like clockwork Anya is pulling up in her car when Lexa leaves her building and they drive to work once again.

“You still look like hell.”

“Thanks. Coffee?”

With a nod her sister directs her to the takeout tray between their seats and Lexa looks sorts through it for her order. They drive in silence for a few blocks, then Anya clears her voice.

“So... There's this girl in my crossfit class I...”

“Let me stop you right there.”

“Lexa, come on.” She starts, but it's not really heartfelt. They've been through the exact same conversation dozens of times by now, there isn't much use in rehashing it once more.

Just to prove it Lexa takes over the spiel for her.

“I have to put myself out there again. I'm young. I'm whatever. Ok fine, can we just not do it right now? There are about a thousand things I have on my plate, this can wait.”

“It's waiting for quite a while now.” She huffs.

“So it can wait a little bit longer.”

Anya looks her over for a moment, then nods. “You are right, it's probably for the best. With that face you'd scare her away anyway, chicks may dig scars, but that right there is just a mess.”

Lexa snorts mid sip and has to wipe her chin. “For fucks sake Anya, it still hurts all over.”

“Serves you right, dumbass. Right or left?” She asks, referring to their route.

“Left, I want to check on things at the office for a bit, then we're going to the Hoover building.”

“Ah yes, the meeting with our esteemed colleagues. Any idea what that's about?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

\- - -

A few hours later they are in a corporate looking conference room with the Bureau's logo on the table filling the Deputy Director in about what transpired the day before. It's an informal affair, Kane takes personal notes, no official paper trail, but he also makes the time to ask about her health and mood. Not that subtly he checks in with Anya after each answer, but Lexa is used to it and appreciates it nonetheless.

At some point a secretary informs them their guests are on their way.

They hear a cane first, sharp taps on the marble floor, then two women with visitor badges turn the corner and they watch them be lead to the room. Kane stands up and opens the door for them, stepping aside so not the be in the way. The first of the two has a metal brace of her dress pants and the cane, her expression serious to the brink of hostile.

“Raven, pleasure to see you again.” The Deputy shakes her hand.

“Kane.” The latina nods dryly and walks in.

“You know agents Woods and Woods.”

“Of course...”

They looked at each other. The last time they had met it was at the funerals, Raven had been in a wheelchair still, unsure if she'd ever get the use of her legs back and Lexa was mourning Costia. They hadn't spoken, Lexa hadn't spoken to anybody at all, too preoccupied with keeping it together in front of the families. She'd forced her mouth shut, hands in her pockets and eyes behind shades, there but not really there. Raven continues, gesturing to her right.

“I believe you have met Ontari Scott, she works on my team.”

“Deputy Director Reyes.” Lexa greets, shaking her hand. “Miss Scott.”

The CIA officer shoots her a bright smile.

“Let's take a seat.”

It takes Raven a moment longer then the others to sit down and she takes the time to remind herself that while this feels very personal, she is far from the only one that has been hurt by Clarke Griffin's betrayal.

“It looks like congratulations are in order.” Reyes jumps right to the point. “I've been asked to inform you that the Agency is folding all the way, Operation Midas is being disbanded as we speak. Azgeda is all yours.”

“First, let me tell you that we are truly sorry for your loss,” Kane offer, caught a bit off guard, “and that it's our intention to continue your excellent work in the same spirit. I hope..”

“The case goes to Woods, yes?” Raven cuts him off.

“Yes.”

Reyes takes a moment, neatly squaring the papers in front of her.

“Some people may object to putting somebody like you in charge, somebody that has such a direct and personal connection with the matter, but I like the idea of having some skin in the game. Like I had. There is no need for niceties, it sucks for an operation to be taken away like this, but at least I know it's to somebody who understands. Right?”

They exchange a long look, then Lexa nods.“Completely.”

“Then I won't waste our time asking what the hell you were thinking when you got her out of supermax. Just get it done, then make sure to stick her back in the hole. I'll have all our files here by days end, if you have any questions you can contact Ontari.”

“About that,” The young woman adds, “I haven't been resigned yet, and with all do respect I'd like to see this thing through.” She looks from Raven to Lexa. “I don't know if you have an expert in forensic accounting on staff, but I'm very familiar with the intel we gathered and...” She gestures with her hand, unsure how to continue. “Some of my friends died for it. I want to help.”

The older agents have a silent conversation between them, the buck ending with Kane.

“Well, if the Agency can spare miss Scott, we can of course use all the help we can get on a matter this serious.”

If Raven is surprised by her officer's initiative she doesn't show it, just nods.

“Fine, I'll draw something up for it. But I expect to be kept in the loop.”

“Of course.”

 

All the important decisions having been made, they still have to spend almost an hour going over operational details and signing papers for the transfer of material, both agencies having their fair share of red tape. At some point after Kane has to call in their in house counsel Lexa walks over to the corner where they keep the coffee machine to freshen hers up and Ontari joins her.

“I wanted to thank you again for the opportunity, Agent Woods. You won't be disappointed.”

A bit taken aback Lexa gives her a small smile, while juggling her paper cup and the coffee pitcher. “I'm sure of it Miss Scott, and uhm... I completely understand wanting to see something through. We're happy to have you.”

“Please call me Ontari.” She tells her, jumping in to prevent a jar of stirrers from tumbling off the small table. “Here, it's my card, let me know where to report to.”

“You have business cards at the CIA?” Lexa frowns.

“I'm just an analyst, Agents Woods, not a spy. And it doesn't say CIA on it anyway.”

The small paper rectangle she is holding out is pretty generic, just name, number and e-mail with a US Government Seal on it. She takes it feeling a bit dumb.

“I guess that makes sense.”

Behind them the meeting is being wrapped up, Reyes already on her feet again, so Ontari quickly grabs her own coffee and is about to leave. “There is my cell on the back, should you need it. I'm sorry...” She interrupts herself, reaching over to Lexa, who's tie is completely crooked and straightens it delicately. “Here. See you soon, Agent Woods.”

“You..” She clears her suddenly scratchy voice. “You can call me Lexa.”

Ontari just smiles and nods, then follows her boss out the conference room. When Lexa turns away, there is Anya, who's been watching the entire thing with an amused expression on her face.

“Not – a – word.” She hisses.

“Didn't say anything.”

\- - -

Tap. Tap. Tap. Raven's cane on the marble floor.

“I want you to tell me everything Woods is up to while you're there, am I clear? This whole thing with... Griffin, I'm not comfortable with, she can turn an FBI office inside out no problem. Woods may be a good investigator, but she's completely out of her depth.”

Ontari walks beside her, nodding pensively. “I'll do my best.”

“Good. Regular updates, no surprises.”

“And should Griffin try something?”

“Consider yourself cleared to take any action you see fit.”

“Yes, Deputy Director.”

\- - -

The lights are low in the basement of the FBI annex, it's just a big empty room with a glass cube in the middle. There is a low hum coming from the electronics inside it, from time to time the cameras buzz when they turn or change focus, but the prisoner has been silent for almost a full day.

That changes when she stands up from where she was sitting on the bed, climbs on top of it and bangs her hand on the glass near one of those cameras.

When she's sure she got their attention, Clarke leans in and shouts.

“I'm ready.”

Silence.

Again she bangs against the glass.

Suddenly hidden speakers crackle. “What for?”

“Tell her I'm ready to take Nia down.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it.  
> Discuss :)


	5. Chapter 5

Two dozen boxes of documents are neatly lined up on a conference table, each stack of paper inside organized and suitably redacted by hand. Just the last one is open with folders arranged around it as a very sleep deprived Triss is going through them one last time and double checks everything on her tablet. When the door opens behind her she tiredly rubs her face and turns.

“So, how are we doing?”

The young agent makes a wide gesture to all the material the CIA sent over.

“All addresses have been removed, personal and business names substituted with pseudonyms, and every last active operational detail blacked out. The meat is all still there for her to analyze, but there should be no way of using it for anything else. I think.”

Lexa nods and claps her on the back.“Good job, now go get some rest.”

“Thanks boss. I've sent you a key with all the real names should you need it, but I'll be back in about... ten hours?”

“No less then fifteen, Agent Thornton. I don't need you falling asleep at your desk.”

“Yes ma'am. I'll have my phone on me.”

Once Triss shuffles out Lexa takes a moment to look everything over herself, then reaches over to the phone and deals an internal extension. In the last two days her face has healed significantly and she's starting to feel like herself again, ready to take on Nia with renewed determination.

“We are all set upstairs, bring the prisoner up.”

  

After Clarke's escape attempt the security measures at the FBI annex have been heightened again. Belt and leg irons clink with each of her steps as she's escorted to the elevator by four armed guards, two of which have a taser already in hand should she chose to try them again.

Eager to start working she just ignores the circus and walks on to her destination, pushing the door open herself and coming face to face with... Anya Woods.

“Good morning blondie. Let's try this again then, shall we?.” The brash agent greets, then points behind her. “Paper copies of all the CIA's intel for you to peruse, one chair, one pencil and one legal pad.”

Clarke rolls her eyes at her childish hostility, but doesn't comment on it. Instead she asks: “Where is you sister?”

“Doing actual work. Now get to it.”

“Can I at least have a highlighter, or is that a security threat too?”

They scowl at each other for a moment, while Anya decides exactly how petty she wants to be here, but in the end she just huffs and moves on.

“Ryder, get her a highlighter. Call me only if you have something.”

One of her burly guards nods at the order, while his colleagues make themselves at home in the room. No more working unsupervised apparently.

 

Without knocking Anya enters Lexa's office and lets herself fall into one of the chairs in front of her desk. “The witch is doing her thing.”

“Mmh, good. Keep me posted.” Her sister responds, not looking up. She's filling out some kind of boring after action report with far too much attention to detail like usual.

“Nervous?”

The brunette frowns and puts the pen down. “Should I be?”

“Lincoln called, I know your girlfriend is on her way.” Anya grins.

“She's not my girlfriend.” Lexa shoots back a bit too quickly.

“It's pretty clear she wouldn't mind it, though.”

“She's not my girlfriend, Anya.” She repeats sternly, clearly unamused by the joke. “I would really appreciate if you wouldn't repeat anything like that ever again, this is a place of work.”

“Ok, fine. No more joking about the consultants, got it.”

It's obvious the reason Lexa is upset isn't about office etiquette, even though it would be totally like her to blow something like this totally out of proportion. The sisters stay in silence for a few moments, Lexa going back to her work, until Anya lifts herself from the seat and puts a hand on her shoulder.

“I'm sorry, kiddo. I didn't mean anything by it.”

“It's fine. Just call me when they get here.”

“Will do.”

Looking back briefly, she walks off.

 

Lincoln does not comment when he sees the disappointment on Ontari's face at him being her welcoming committee, but files it away for later. He explains in his usual calm and reassuring demeanor that the Azgeda Task Force operates from an external annex and that they will have to get her into the system before she's allowed on the premise.

The woman recovers quickly and doesn't complain about the lengthy tour off the FBI offices they have to go trough to sign forms, get her photograph taken and finally be rewarded with an RFID badge.

After about one and a half hours they finally hop in his SUV and get to it.

“So this is the place.” Ontari cranes her head out the car window, taking in the stout, fenced structure. There is a security post with guards at the entrance, that wave them in.

“D.C. Metro Sorting Facility, U.S.Postal Service.” Lincoln recites while pulling into his parking space. “It was abandoned and slated for demo twelve years ago, the Bureau acquired the building post-9/11. It's been used in a variety of covert operations ever since.”

The woman turns to him and humorously lifts an eyebrow. “So it's a black site? Didn't think you noble G-Men types used those.”

Pulling the keys from the ignition Lincoln shrugs. “We prefer to call it The Post Office.”

There is an ancient weathered plaque on the outside wall, the only letters still clearly legible being “Ton DC”. The door underneath it is unmanned but thick, with a metal card reader mounted on it's lock and cameras pointed right at it's threshold.

“Here we go.” He motions her to go first.

She pulls the brand new plastic badge from her pocket, swipes it and a loud buzzing sound lets her know she can enter. Only when that first door closes behind her does a second one open in front and she's finally in the cool interior. Lincoln goes through the same rigmarole a moment later.

“Welcome to Counterintelligence Annex A. We're upstairs.” He motions to the stairs, but Ontari reaches out for his arm and stops him.

“Can I ask you something, before we go up?”

He nods, taking a few steps away from the door.

“I wanted to ask earlier, but... I've read some stuff in preparation for this. Your supervisor, Agent Woods, she didn't come up in Counterintelligence, did she?”

“No, she transferred over from Human Trafficking a few years back.”

“...after the last Azgeda attack.”

Lincoln isn't really sure where this is going, but he doesn't like talking about this kind of stuff without Lexa being present. It's probably just innocent curiosity, or her giant crush if Anya is to be believed, but still... He falls back to his man of few words routine.

“Yes.”

“And she's commanding her own Task Force already, that's very impressive.”

Silence.

“I'm not fishing for information Agent Forrester, I just wanted to know if you have any advice. You know... to fit in here.”

He takes the young woman in for a moment.

“Just do your work well and you'll be fine.”

She nods emphatically, then follows him up.

 

“Welcome Miss Scott. You remember Agent Woods.” Lexa gestures to Anya. “And you'll meet Agent Thornton soon enough.”

They shake hands again. “Miss Scott.”

“Ontari is fine. Thanks for having me, the documents make it here alright?”

“Yes, they are already in use as we speak. Thank Director Reyes for me. Now, let me give you a short tour, then we have put a desk aside for you so you can get up to speed with our investigation. My office is over there,” Lexa gestures to one of the few closed off spaces on the floor, “the door is always open.”

 

As the two women walk off Anya is unable to help herself and nudges Lincoln with her elbow.

“I give them two weeks tops before they are doing it in the broom closet.”

The large man looks down to her and whispers. “There is no way in hell I'm touching that bet.”

“Coward.”

He starts to walk away, and she calls after him again. “Coward!”

“There is no fun ever in this office.” She mumbles to herself before going back to work herself.

\- - -

Clarke's new routine is tedious and she doesn't seem to make any progress.

She wakes up, eats and gets dressed, then guards come and wrap her in chains. Slow like snails they walk to the conference room, where the chains come off and four men watch her do math homework for eight hours. Then the chains again, the cell, and sleep. There are a few meals in between, but that's pretty much it.

She's reported a few scraps of insight she's gleaned from all that paper, but nobody bothered to tell her what came of it. Nothing major apparently, since the office is quiet.

It's been three days.

Trying arduously to sharpen her pencil for the hundredth time Clarke looks out through the blinds to the main office floor, where Woods is making nice with a dark haired woman. She frowns and watches for a few moments while the two talk just a little too close together.

“Hey,” She calls over to one of her guards, who is currently deep into a magazine. “Who's that?”

The man doesn't seem very interested but looks over to where she's pointing nonetheless.

“I don't know, some CIA chick that's been coming around. Why?”

“No reason.” She says and goes back to sharpening, but after a heartbeat she throws both pencil and sharpener forceful down into the bin. “I need a new pencil, this one is gone.”

\- - -

Lexa is finally able to run again and it helps immensely with her mood. Her time is significantly worse then usual, but she still managed to complete her normal course and is already savoring a good shower, when she sees Anya sitting on her building's front steps.

“Hey.” She greets a bit out of breath, unplugging her earbuds and rolling them up.

“That's you not overdoing it, I'm guessing.” Her sister asks.

“Oh shut up, when you broke you arm we had to practically tie you to a chair.”

“That was third grade, Lexa.”

She just scoffs and moves on. “What are you doing here?”

“Do we have to talk while you stink to high heaven, or can we maybe go upstairs?”

 

Lexa comes back to her seldom used kitchen in sweats, her hair still wet, and thankfully takes the cup of coffee her sister has prepared. Anya has raided her fridge in the meantime and is munching on some cereal, yogurt and fruit.

“So?”

She swallows and puts the spoon down. “Griffin's made a few requests as far as access goes, a list of files she needs to cross reference with the CIA ones. It needs your signature if you want to do it.”

The brunette sits down and takes a sip from her mug.

“What has she given us so far?”

“Not much to be honest. There are a few names that seem promising, but they were already on the watch list, so no new leads there. She couldn't know that though, so it looks like she's doing her part...”

“And the files?”

“Nothing nefarious as far as I could tell, but I've sent you the list to check over.”

“Mmh.”

“And she's asked about you. Implied you are hiding.”

“I don't really care.”

“Fair enough. What are you and CIA barbie working on?”

Lexa frowns to express her disapproval for the nickname, but doesn't dwell on it.

“She's got a good theory, it looks like there are a bunch of bomb components from the last two attacks that match. Could mean a bigger shipment that can be traced. She wants to go over the report of the old bombing as well, if that matches too we could even trace it to a known bomb builder's signature. ATF has a database apparently.”

“So she knows her stuff.”

“Shocking.” Lexa says deadpan.

“Fine, fine, you were right, she's not just a pretty face. What do you want me to do with the Griffin stuff?”

“I'll take a look later, let you know.”

  

\- REQUEST DENIED -

No further explanation, just two words on a printed out e-mail. Clarke crumples up the page and throws it away. How the fuck is she supposed to do anything when they keep her deaf and blind?

She thought that solitary imprisonment was hard on her, but this is just torture. Like running in a giant hamster wheel without any chance of... The blonde turns around to the by now familiar sea of files and stares at it for a moment. No way.

Mad at herself she swipes a whole bunch of files down to the floor, then one of the boxes.

“Hey!” A guard stands up from his chair, hand on his pistol's grip.

“Oh shut up, Tristan. It's just paper.”

She feels bad for a moment, after having spent so much time together in the last few days Clarke and her jailers had struck up a surprising truce that seemed to work for both of them. Maybe she will apologize later, not now though. Now she fishes around in the pile for what she's looking for, turns to a blank page of her legal pad and feverishly goes to work.

\- - -

It's late afternoon the day after, Lexa is just finishing up the last few things before she can go home and get some rest, when she hears commotion outside.

“Lexa. Agent Woods.” Ontari corrects herself running into her office.

“Yes?”

“We have a match.” The CIA officer waves a piece of paper excitedly. “For the bomb construction! It's this guy the ATF has had an eye on for some time now, John Gideon. No known political or religious affiliation, but he's ex military. Matches Nia's M.O.”

“Where?” She asks, already grabbing her stuff.

“Rural Virginia.”

When they walk out of her office the other agents have sensed that something is going on and her team is flocking to them. Lexa immediately takes the reins.

“This guy could be our bomb maker.” She says taking the paper from Ontari. “Triss, I want you to dig up everything you can find on him. Lincoln, looks like he's holed up somewhere in the woods so we'll need local help. Get on the phone and organize me somebody I can talk to over there. You, me and Anya are going. Quint you cover us on homebase.”

There is a flurry of motion as everybody scrambles to it and Lexa turns back to the woman beside her.

“Ontari..”

“Sorry, I'm not field work approved.” She smiles apologetically.

That's when the procession escorting Griffin back to her cell bumps into them and the blonde slips between her guards right towards Lexa. They haven't spoken or really seen each other since the night on the roof and now seems the worst possible time to remedy that.

“Woods listen, I have something.” She urges loudly, while the men try to seize her again.

“I don't have time Griffin.” The brunette tell her, but the she grabs her with her cuffed hands.

“Woods, it's important. Forget all the other files I asked you for, I need to take a look your confidential informants list, PCI 27-A. If I'm right the Bureau has had a source close to Nia this whole time and hasn't realized it. I can show you...”

She motions back to the conference room as best she can between her shackles and her escort now holding her by both arms, but Lexa isn't interested.

“No.”

“Woods, I'm serious. This could be it.”

“Let me spell it out for you: There is no way in hell I'll let you see those names. The very reason that list exists is to protect them from people like you.”

Griffin looks around, left and right, seemingly trying to find something to convince the FBI agent, but Lexa just waves to the guards. “Take her away.”

“What are you keeping me here for, then?” Clarke asks indignantly, but there is no answer. The agents run off to their operation and her guards push her towards the elevator.

“Fine. I'm going, I'm going.”

And the doors close on her once again.

\- - -

Turns out there is lots of shacks in the Virginia woods.

Lexa looks down on the messy map unfolded on the hood of her car. With the help of the local Sheriff's Departments they have crossed out large swats of land and started to close in on where Gideon could be hiding out, but the whole thing has quickly become a quagmire of jurisdictions.

If that wasn't enough private property and federal land are hard to tell apart in some places and according to the local officers helping them out there are quite a few trigger happy hermits living in the area, who wouldn't think twice about shooting at federal agents.

Her radio crackles and she adjusts the volume.

“Location 14 empty. There are signs of somebody coming through here in the last few weeks, but nothing useful to identify them. Sorry Agent Woods.”

“Copy that. That's it for today people, see you back at home base.”

Another bust. She throws the radio on the hood and crosses off another cabin from her list. Hopefully Anya or Lincoln are having more luck with their grids, but at the moment all signs point to them staying in the sticks for the long haul.

“Agent Woods?” The radio pipes up again.

What now?

“Go for Woods.”

“I have a call for you at dispatch, your office tried to get in contact.”

“Who is it?”

“Agent Thornton, ma'am. She told me she left you a message on your phone.”

“Thank you.”

She climbs in her car and drives down to the valley bottom until her cell phone starts to ring with notifications again. There are quite a few, but she ignores most and goes straight for Triss's voice mail. She seems pretty shaken.

“Agent Woods, we had an attempted breach at one of the Post Office's encrypted networks. From an internal terminal. Whoever did it, they were careful, I barely noticed they were on our system. They tried to access our PCI files. Please advice.”

She immediately presses redial.

“Agent...”

Lexa barrels right over Triss.

“Put Griffin in lockdown and get me back to Washington the fastest way you know how.”

“Y-yes, right away.”

“Complete lockdown! And keep the breach under wraps for now, I want to deal with this personally.”

“Of course.”

She ends the call and steps on the gas.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to cover a lot of ground in this one, hopefully the quality didn't suffer too much for it.


	6. Chapter 6

It's the middle of the night, when Lexa finally makes it to the Post Office's basement. The industrial lights turn on one at the time with loud thuds as she crosses the empty expanse of the room, the very last one being the one above the reinforced cell, where Griffin is already awake and waiting for her.

“You know, it bugged me all the way to Virginia, why you would ask for access to the FBI files on paid confidential informants.”

It's just the two of them. Unreadable like usual the blonde lifts herself up from her cot and walks up closer to the glass. When she talks the speakers make her voice sound metallic and distant.

“If you have an accusation to make Agent Woods, then make it.”

“You may think very little of me Griffin, but I'm not stupid. It's unreasonable to expect -any- consultant to have access of privileged information like that, let alone a convicted traitor like yourself. You knew full well I would say no.”

There is a tense silence as they study each other.

“Yes.” The blonde admits, “I asked you so Ontari Scott would hear me ask you.”

That's what Lexa was afraid of. She closes her eyes to collect herself, before she says what she already knows to be true:

“Because she's a mole.”

The blonde shrugs. “It took me a while to figure it out, but all that financial paperwork upstairs is a closed loop. It's been engineered to look like a gold mine of intel, but each financier connects to the next one, each numbered account to another one, without ever leading somewhere useful. A shiny toy designed to make us waste time.”

“The lead with the bomb maker seems to be the same. We could be out there hunting this guy for months and don't have anything to show for it.”

A scoff. “That guy is probably dead in a ditch somewhere, Woods.”

Yeah, probably. She's itching to confront the woman directly, get her hands on her and make her talk, but the rational part of her mind knows that's not what the situation calls for. She huffs.

After a moment Griffin speaks again, sounding a bit hesitant.

“Listen, we are clearly never going to see eye to eye, but all personal feelings aside, the signal my family is waiting for to come out of hiding is seeing on TV that Nia Queen has been apprehended or killed. There is nothing else, I made sure of it. So if there is one thing you can believe, it's that I'm working towards that goal with everything I got.”

Lexa takes a long moment to look into her sky blue eyes before she nods.

“What do you figure, CIA or Azgeda?”

“I'm not sure yet, it could just be the Agency undermining the task force, but I wouldn't bet on it.”

There is a single metal chair sitting a bit to the side of the cell, left there in case their secret prisoner secured in a classified basement should ever get visitors probably. Putting the absurdity of that aside Lexa plops down on it, mulling the situation over.

“Well, she didn't manage to get through, but there is a chance she knows she's been exposed, I ordered you into lockdown so she would think I suspect you. It's not that big of a stretch really.”

“...If you were stupid.” Clarke adds, tilting her head almost playfully.

“Well, she is trying to make a fool of me, so she may very well think that.”

“I wouldn't be so sure of it, those little looks she was sending you seemed pretty real to me...”

Lexa shakes her head. “Don't you start with that too.”

“I'm serious. I know a thing or two about this kind of stuff as you know, and the best way to get close to somebody on an emotional level is to find real things you like about them. It's not that unheard of for a pretend infatuation to become real.”

“So what do you suggest then?”

“You turn her.”

“I'm... not really comfortable with that.”

“I can walk you through it.” The blonde pushes.

“I'm no spy Griffin.”

“I know that, but you've handled informants, done high profile interrogations... It's not that hard.”

Lying. She's never been that good at it to be honest. It's not like she has some grand moral objection to underhanded methods, but she's always been more partial to hard work and attention to detail as her key for success. If anything like this was ever necessary to solve a case she would normally send in somebody with the right skill set, but this time that isn't really an option.

“Goddammit. Ok. I'll sent Triss down here as soon as she gets in, I want you two to go through Ontari's file with a fine-tooth comb and find anything I can use.”

Clarke nods slowly.

“Anything else?” Lexa asks.

“Just be careful, if she's already taken a bite it probably means she's working under severe time constraints. The CIA won't probably whack an agent over this, but Azgeda very well might.”

“Thanks. Now how would I do this?”

\- - -

The elevator dings and opens on the office floor, where even at this hour there are a few agents working. Usually Lexa prides herself in being always informed about the goings on of all her squads, but since she's been busy with the search in Virginia for the last few days she's fallen behind. To be honest she can't find it in herself to get caught up right now, she has only one thing in mind.

“Agent Woods.”

She turns around and comes face to face with it.

“Ontari.” She greets her a bit stiffly and looks around, searching for a watch on the walls. “What are you doing here, it's... 6 AM.”

“I came in early to go over some new foreign intelligence reports, but they haven't come in yet it seems. I was about to call Interpol.”

“That's very... dedicated, but you should pace yourself and get some rest.”

She smiles sweetly. “You work harder than anybody I know, I'm just trying to keep up. What are you doing back in DC? I thought you were still with the search teams.”

“Yeah.” Lexa clears her throat. “There are some jurisdictional issues with our search that I have to bring Kane up to speed on, so we can sort some things out. I was just checking in here before heading over to the Hoover Building. I'll be back out there tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she faints concern. “I saw Griffin's in isolation, did something happen?”

“Yes, some mess or other, but Triss is handling it. I honestly don't have the time to clean up after her again, I'll recommend we just send her back to the supermax.”

“Understandable.”

It's now or never, Lexa tells herself.

“I-I have to go, but it shouldn't take more then a few hours. Wanna grab a bite to eat later before I drive back to Virginia? You can catch me up on what's been going on here.”

If she didn't know any better she would say a look of genuine surprise flashes across the girl's face, then a bright smile.

“Yes, I'd like that. Call me when you are done?”

“Good.” Good? “Yes!” Lexa could punch herself. “Will do.”

“See you later.”

With an awkward wave she flees from the conversation and down to the parking lot, almost trembling from the utter embarrassment.

What a train wreck.

\- - -

“I'm coming right back home.” Anya insists from the car's speakers.

“No! I need you to continue what you are doing over there with Lincoln. She'll suspect something's up if we suddenly abandon the Gideon lead for no good reason.”

Lexa's really driving to the Hoover building with the plan to brief Kane as quickly as humanly possible, then sneak home to get a few hours of rest before she has to meet Ontari.

“At least tell me you'll bring backup.”

“Not possible I'm afraid. If she sees a tail there is no way of telling how she will react.”

The line goes silent for a moment and she can clearly tell how her sister is searching for something she can contribute to the current situation. Like usual, when she comes up short she gets mad.

“Then what are you even calling me for?”

“Well, if I end up dead I'd appreciate it if you arrest her.”

“Don't even joke about that, Lex.”

“It's fine Anya, I have Triss and Griffin.”

“Oh goodie, a child who can't shoot for shit and female Hannibal Lecter.”

She actually snorts at that.

“Come on, there is no way to get you back here in time anyway. You can be my backup next time.”

“There better be a next time then, stupid.”

“I'll do my best.”

“Oh and Lexa, please tell me you'll wear I wire. I'm always ready to pay good money to hear your bumbling attempts at flirting. Do you remember that time you in high school when...”

“Goodbye Anya.”

With a flick of her thumb she hangs up the call.

\- - -

One thing leads to the next and far more quickly than Lexa would prefer it's lunchtime.

She's waiting for Ontari on the street corner they agreed on and for what is most likely the hundredth time she looks down at herself and buttons her suit jacket. A few moments later she huffs and unbuttons it again. Saying she feels uneasy is an understatement.

Adjusting her sunglasses she covertly looks around, searching for hidden snipers or other assorted assassins, but not finding any she has to admit to herself that it's far more likely to be because of “the date thing” than any actual threat. Anya's mocking comments may not have been completely unfounded.

“Hi, sorry. Have you been waiting long?”

Lexa flinches and quickly turns.

“No! I mean, I just got here myself.”

The CIA analyst gives her an amused smile, but doesn't call her out on it. Like the first time they'd met she's wearing an immaculate combination of button down shirt, light blue this time, and pencil skirt, on her arm there's a purse big enough to carry work papers.

“Are you alright?” She asks in a perfectly friendly way.

“Yes, of course. It's just... a lot going on you know? But everything is fine.” Clearing her voice Lexa takes another quick glance around and forces herself into the right head space for the operation. Because this is an operation, she reminds herself, nothing more, nothing less. “I don't know if you have any preferences, but there is a nice place nearby...”

“Sounds good, I don't really know the area, so I'm completely at your mercy.”

With a hopefully believable smile Lexa points in the direction they have to take and starts walking.

“You not from around here?”

“Oh come on, Agent Woods, we are both professionals here. I'm pretty sure you gave my file a thorough reading two before you let me into your playhouse there. That's completely fine, I did the same,” She teases, “but what I really meant is that I've spent the last few years at Langley. I've only recently joined Director Reyes's team so I'm not up on my lunch spots yet.”

“Well this is a good one to start with then.”

The place they'd chosen after much deliberation is a small restaurant with an inner patio, quiet enough to be a comfortable place to discuss sensitive subjects, with a romantic parasol of vines that would guarantee neither side could surveil the meeting. In theory that should put Ontari at ease while protecting Lexa from any backup she might have in the area. Theory being the operative word.

“We come here all the time, they do Mediterranean cuisine.” She adds nonchalantly.

A server seats them at the table she had asked for on the phone earlier and leaves them with the menus.

“So... I was meaning to ask, how is it to work under Raven Reyes? She's... intense.”

“You could say that.” The brunette laughs, “but it's also a very prestigious posting that I would never have passed up on. It has been a few years, but the division is still being rebuilt, so they are looking for new talent. That's me.”

“I can see that.” Lexa interjects, and she can't be sure, but it looks like Ontari actually blushes.

“Yeah well, didn't think I would end up in the deep end this fast... Reyes is a good boss. Not big on being warm and fuzzy, but that's fine, I want to learn, not be mothered.”

“No danger there, I think.”

“How about you, how did you end up in charge of the Post Office?”

Lexa's expression darkens before she can think about it, so she decides to just roll with it.

“You just said you've read up about me.”

“Yes, I know of course. I just... wanted to hear it from you, you know?” The young woman explains, a bit embarrassed. “What other people say is... it's not the whole story.”

She is saved by the server coming back to take their orders and giving her a few precious moments to decide what she's going to say next. It's obviously an argument she's not really fond of, but Griffin's main advice was to open up to get her target to do the same...

“Thank you.” The young man nods and walks back to the counter.

She stays in silence for a moment longer, then breathes in deeply.

“As you know after they stopped the Airline bombings Azgeda retaliated against the CIA operatives responsible. They killed nine of them, five in one stroke with a bomb... Reyes was there, Wells Jaha... my fiancee.” She has to clear her voice to stop it from cracking. “Costia Green.”

Ontari reaches over and puts a hand on her arm. “It's fine, you don't have to...”

“No, of course.” Lexa interrupts. “You know that part. When that happened I was working at the Criminal Investigative Division. Intelligence wasn't... let's just say it wasn't my field of expertise and had absolutely no interest in it. Then after the bomb I had to make a change.”

“Come over to Counterintelligence.” Ontari supplies.

“No, that wasn't what I had in mind. More like... early retirement.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, obviously that didn't go as planned.” Lexa shoots her a smile, hoping that will be enough. “You've met my sister, she and a few others had strong opinions on what I should do with my life and they got their way I guess. Story for another time.”

“You are right, I'm sorry.”

“No, it's just... small steps you know?” She she shrugs, trying to suggest the possibility of them going out again in the future.

“Of course.”

The food arrives not much after and they spend a few almost pleasant minutes making small talk without touching on work or the past. Lexa finds herself surprised at the things they have in common, wondering how much of it is real and seriously considering if she could have fallen for the ruse if she hadn't given the game away.

“So... are we going to address the elephant in the room?” Ontari suddenly asks, startling Lexa from her thoughts. Her tone remains light, but there is something else there.

“What do you mean?”

“The reason you invited me here, Agent Woods.”

Lexa stays perfectly still, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but so does Ontari. For a a long moment they look each other in eyes.

“The investigation.” She says finally. “I'm guessing the search in Virginia isn't going well?”

“No, not really.” Lexa concedes, still vigilant.

“Must be frustrating.”

Unsure how to respond to that, they fall to silence again. Suddenly Lexa isn't so sure about who is leading this conversation anymore.

“My old supervisor was big on patience.” She tries to get back on track. “She told us that a good investigation can't be rushed or you'll miss important details.”

“Seems like good advice, but I was just wondering if you still trust what I have to say...” Ontari studies her while she speaks. “It was my lead that made you go out there after all.”

Lexa shrugs noncommittally. “Mistakes happen.”

The analyst nods slowly. “...when your work is rushed.”

“Ontari...”

The air is tense.

“I have some files you might want to...” The brunette bends over to the side, where her purse is sitting on an empty chair and Lexa can't stop herself from flinching, her hand twitching half way to her holster before she catches herself.

Ontari stops her motion and calmly asks: “Where did I go wrong?”

 

Without moving her head Lexa looks over to make sure the staff is keeping their distance, she already knows all the nearby tables are empty. Her right hand is still holding a fork, so she puts the implement down, but doesn't dare try to reach under the table to her gun with Ontari's eyes trained on her.

“What are you talking about?” She asks.

“I really liked our time together, but you can stop pretending now.” The analyst says coolly. “Just tell me this, are we really alone?”

Lexa nods, subtly shifting her weight to be ready for anything.

“Good.”

“Ontari, I don't know what's going on, but we can make it right. Just tell me what's going on and I'll do my best, I promise you.”

“You are a good person Lexa, really. There isn't that many like you around the FBI, you know? But that's just not how this game is played.”

“It can be.” She insists.

“Are you wired?”

“No, I told you...”

“But we are on camera.” She looks to the side, where in a corner a single small dome camera oversees the patio and it's occupants. It's a small commercial thing.

“Yes.” Lexa admits.

“I think you really want to save me, like you really believe it's possible, don't you?”

After a moment Lexa nods again. “Yes.”

“Wouldn't that be nice. I told you, those aren't the rules anymore. They may have worked with your poor trafficking victims, but here... you are either in or you are out. For good. Ask Griffin, she gets it.”

“So it's Nia? Is Nia making you do this?”

“Second rule: Nothing comes for free, least of all information.”

“What do we do then?”

A beat.

“We do what we came here to do.”

Ontari kicks the table over in Lexa's direction and pulls a knife from her purse's inner lining. Trying to push her advantage she vaults over the tabletop and slashes at neck height.

Bang!

Bang!

Instead of getting to her feet, Lexa's pushed herself back with the chair. With her back to the ground and gun in hand she pulls the trigger twice.

Red splotches blossom on Ontari's shirt, making her stumble and fall almost on top of her.

The knife rattles down nearby.

 

Somebody screams, but Lexa pays it no mind. She scrambles to turn Ontari around, check her injuries. She pulls her phone out and hits speed dial.

“This is Agent Lexa Woods, FBI. I need an ambulance at 8th and H. Double SCW from close range gunfire, the area is clear.”

The brunette on the floor coughs painfully, then mouths something.

“What?” She asks and bends down to her.

Again she tries to mouth something, but it's incomprehensible, so she reaches down to her waist, but her fingers are getting numb. Trying to help her Lexa looks and the only thing there is a clip with the electronic badge for the Post Office.

“This? What do you want with it?”

Ontari takes it with both hands, swallows hard, then whispers with bloodstained lips.

“L-location compromised.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that after the last chapter I haven't responded to every single comment like I usually do. That's because in response to quite a few of them I wanted to say some things that I felt would spoil this one, so I tried to shut my mouth and churn it out as fast as possible instead. Turns out it took a week anyway.
> 
> First, to those that were lamenting Lexa's denial to see the files and how unreasonable she was being: As you've read here she wasn't being unreasonable, the request was and Clarke doesn't get the benefit of the doubt. Second, to those that think Ontari's betrayal was a given and everybody not arresting her on the spot was stupid: It wasn't. 
> 
> Because the characters of this story do not know the plot of The 100! 
> 
> That being said, I'm not mad, just keep that in mind for the future :) And I will now very happily get back to responding to all comments from this chapter onwards. Keep 'em coming!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait and be warned, this one is bloody.

As soon as the first patrolman had shown up at the restaurant Lexa had given the scene over to him and bolted out the door to her car. She's racing back to the Post Office while frantically dealing one number after the other on her cellphone.

“Come on. Come on.”

“Hello. You have reached John Ryder's phone. Unfortunately, I can not answer the phone right now, but if you'll leave a message I'd like to return it as soon as...”

“Fuck!” She bangs her hand down on the steering wheel and disconnects the call.

The annex's switchboard isn't picking up, neither do the two agents she tried to reach with their direct number, now even Ryder's cell is dead. Location compromised. She looks over to the passenger seat, where her gun lays and deals a different number.

“You have reached Special Agent Anya Woods. I can't take your call at the moment, you can leave a message after the tone.”

It was getting pretty clear Lexa wouldn't catch a break today.

“Anya! The meeting went south. I'm not hurt, I got her first, but I think something's up at the Office. I can't get trough to anybody and Ontari said something about it being compromised. I need you and Lincoln back here as quickly as possible. Don't contact any other Bureau assets, until we know who we can trust we use only our people. I'll see you there.”

Even in the best of cases they would need a few hours to get back, more than likely they are currently in the sticks somewhere searching for a ghost and won't get the message until evening.

No break indeed.

 

The guards at the gatehouse recognizes her vehicle and would have waved her through, but she stops at the line and pulls the window down.

“What's going on?”

“Not sure SSA Woods, we are experiencing network problems it seems, internet connection and telecommunications have been spotty for about twenty minutes now. We were about to...”

The man that had come out of the enclosure to speak with her looks to the right, where a white van is pulling in after her. While it looks nondescript, he and Lexa have seen enough of that make and model to know it as one the FBI uses quite frequently. A gruff man in overalls and a clipboard jumps out from the driver's side and waves.

“They must have called it in from inside.” The guard shrugs, then waves back: “ID and the work order please.”

She doesn't catch the rest of the verbal exchange, but for a moment she glimpses something metallic hidden under the clipboard. IT troubles don't explain the cellphones, she realizes. A jammer does.

The clipboard falls to the ground. She floors the gas pedal, her car roars to life and crashes through the boom gate in front. The guards, not so quick to react, fall under the bark of suppressed gunfire. The man turns to her and shoots again. He nicks her left wheel and the tire explodes, launching her against the first row of parked cars inside the lot.

The van doors open and there are four men dressed as technicians now. From her rearview mirror Lexa can see two of them rush after her armed with silenced pistols while the others stay behind.

She presses herself low and crawls over to the passenger side to roll out the opposite door. There are only seconds to decide, she looks around quickly... Crossing the open area to reach the main entrance seems out of the question, her best bet is the underground garage and loading dock on the left.

Ducking from car to car she runs for the close by ramp.

 

“Quarterback, we have a rabbit. In the cellar on foot.”

“Move to terminate, then identify, Advance Three. Advance One, prepare for delivery.”

The gruff technician acknowledges the order on his earpiece as his colleague finishes pulling the dead guards from sight. Then they move their vehicle from the driveway and take the overalls off to reveal matching guard uniforms. An ugly red stain slowly starts to dry on the road where a man was killed only moments ago.

“Go for delivery.”

A large refrigerator truck pulls up and drives trough the checkpoint half way to the building, then noisily maneuvers around so it's back doors point to it. While the two fake guards roll the heavy overnight doors closed behind it, the truck's doors swing open and more than a dozen heavily armed men swarm out.

They are all wearing tactical vests with various attachments and dark green balaclavas, but their appearance is slightly mismatched and rugged enough that nobody would mistake them for a regular military unit. Several of them carry large equipment cases.

One man pushes through the pack from behind and takes out a cloned magnetic badge.

“Ok boys, time to shine.” He swipes it and the Post Office buzzes open.

 

\- - -

 

As if it wasn't obvious by their chosen target, these men don't move like ordinary criminals, they are military trained for sure. Determined to press her incredibly slight home court advantage Lexa is crouching between two SUVs observing them and biding her time. The too tight kevlar vest she pulled from an unlocked trunk digs uncomfortably in her shoulders.

They professionally sweep the large underground parking space, but she takes note as the two slowly wander ever so farther away from each other. Knowing she won't get a second chance at this she turns a broken piece of asphalt she found on the ground in her hand and waits. When they are aligned just right she throws it with all her strength in one direction and runs in the opposite one.

Glass breaks and a car alarms starts going off behind her, both men turn to it. She doesn't stop and rushes the one on her path. Startled the fake technician wastes a few precious moments to line up his shot, Lexa doesn't. She pulls the trigger four times, betting on number more than accuracy. The guy goes down and she keeps going past him to a metal maintenance door.

The second shooter runs up and bullets start flying around her as she swipes her badge. Once. Twice. As she's starting to panic the buzzer finally goes green and she pulls the handle to squeeze inside. The doors slams shut leaving her in complete darkness. She fumbles out her cellphone and turns on the flashlight. Shots hit against the thick metal in front of her making it ring, but she can't see any dents on the door. Thank God for her all access card.

The phone is _predictably_ useless, but she's in some sort of old service tunnel from back in the day, used for postal work she can't really be bothered to remember right now. It should connect with the main entrance area if she's not mistaken, where there should be a fire alarm she can pull to warn all agents about the attack. She starts running, then quickly stops in her tracks.

The sound of distant machine gun fire echoes from up front.

 

_\- - -_

 

In a different part of the building they are escorting Clarke back to her cell after her intense deep dive in Ontari Scott's personal file. Not much there to be honest, but she's mulling over the scraps that caught her eye. The excessively secure transfers have become a daily ritual by now and everything is going fine, when suddenly machine gun fire erupts somewhere above them. The men snap to attention and stop, exchanging worried looks.

Their silent conversation goes on for a tad too long, so the blonde jerks on her chains to get their attention.

“That was a 7.62 Soviet, sure as shit not an FBI gun.”

Behind her Artigas, the young one, draws his gun, but still nobody takes action.

“Wake up idiots, the site is are under attack. Get me out of this cuffs so I can help.”

“In your dreams, Griffin.” Quint seems to be the first to recover from his daze. Looking around where they are he quickly formulates an incredibly stupid plan and motions to a maintenance closet. “You two, put her in there and cuff her to something sturdy, we'll have to come back for her. Ryder, Tristan, you are with me, we have to check out what's going on. When you are done follow up and cover our backs.”

Grim nods are exchanged and before she can protest she is pushed inside the cramped space and left to fend for her self. To be fair she could stay put and wait for them to return, she would probably even be reasonably safe here, but that's just not how she's wired. As soon as she hears their steps grow distant she starts to feel out the best way to escape her new prison.

There is old scaffolding, some cleaning supplies, but nothing useful. Fortunately the old pipes they chained her to seem not to be in use and she may be able to unscrew a junction if she keeps at it long enough. The gunfire flares up again, closer this time.

Then the fire alarms starts to blare.

“Shit.”

There aren't many people who would attack the FBI head on so brazenly, and while it isn't Nia's usual way of handling things she most definitely is part of that exclusive little club. The last thing Clarke need is getting a bullet in her head while chained in a janitor's closet.

Cursing she pulls hard on the pipe and trashes around trying to pull it free.

 

\- - -

 

“All positions, status report.”

“Front clear. Device is hot.”

“Main area cleared with minimal resistance. Groups of agents have dispersed trough the building.”

“Armory and control room are secured.”

“Roger that, initiate secondary sweep and clean house. Quarterback out.”

 

\- - -

 

Under the dull emergency lighting Lexa creeps up the stairs to the office floor and finds it completely ravaged. There are still wisps of thick red smoke hanging around the area, glass shards all over the ground and big clusters of bullet holes in the dry walls. She can see half a dozen corpses just from where she's standing, all colleagues she'd known for years, some with their guns still in the holster. She tries to catch her breath and looks around for the terrorists.

The alarm sirens cut off abruptly and bath everything in an eerie silence.

Location compromised.

How could she have been so stupid? Ontari wasn't talking about another mole, wasn't implying it wasn't safe to share information in the annex, she was saying Azgeda knew where the annex was now. She meant they were their next target for elimination.

Suddenly there is movement in the periphery of her vision.

“Contact left!” Somebody yells and lets out a short burst of fire.

The brunette dives down behind some desks and runs away from the open space to a side corridor, her pursuers following close behind. She turns a corner, then another and looks down a long straight track that would leave her completely exposed.

Not. One. Break.

Stopping abruptly she presses herself against the wall and draws her gun. Deep breaths Lexa, you can do this. She lifts her arm at eye level right along the wall and listens for steps. As the shadows grow closer she holds her breath. Right as a figure appears in her view she pulls the trigger, killing him on the spot, then she crouches low and jumps out for the next.

They exchange shots and the second Azgeda terrorist goes down as well, but almost at the same time a door is kicked open behind her. She spins around, the third one's assault rifle is already on her and spits out a hail of bullets. Lexa's legs give out from under her toppling her to the floor, and suddenly she can't breath after her vest's been hit multiple times.

Desperately she squeezes off the rest of her magazine at him without really aiming, praying that she'll hit something and somehow she does. He stumbles and falls to the ground face first. Coughing painfully she drags herself over to make sure he's gone, but is distracted when she notices her hands being drenched in blood.

She looks down.

Her right leg is a mangled mess.

Cursing she goes to work on taking the rifle from her attacker, but the strap is tangled around him and she has trouble turning his heavy frame around in her state. There are more isolated shots in the distance and she's pretty sure she can hear steps coming closer. Shit! She tries again, but all that movement isn't doing her leg any favors and she starts feeling dizzy.

She even checks her pistol's magazine even if she knows there won't be anything there.

A shadow falls over her.

End of the line, she thinks.

Unarmed she turns around, coming face to face with Clarke Griffin.

The blonde woman looks at her, her bright blue eyes glancing at her pale face, down to her bleeding leg and up again to the corpse of the terrorist. Her prison uniform seems dirty and there is a smear of blood on her left sleeve, but she herself is unharmed. Without a word she leans down, cuts the strap with a knife and takes the rifle for herself.

Then she walks away.

 

Lexa's vision is starting to blur, but the rage that floods her system in that moment gives her back a few precious moments of consciousness.

“Don't Griffin! Don't leave me here unarmed!”

The ex CIA officer is searching the other men, taking a sidearm, vest, and equipment pouches from both. She looks up and whisper shouts: “Be quiet, will you? They are still around.”

Once she's suitably kitted out Griffin comes back down the hall, roughly sits Lexa up and takes hold of the handle her vest has between the shoulder blades.

“You and I aren't done just yet, Woods. Just try not to scream, it's not gonna be pleasant.”

And with that being said she starts to drag her along the floor in the direction from where she came. The first jerky motion makes Lexa groan and flash white behind her eyes, but she keeps her composure as they slowly move leaving a dark red trail behind them on the checkered marble.

 

“Got to assume the exits are being guarded.” Clarke whispers while going.

“E-emergency locking protocol... engaged.” Lexa pushes out painfully.

“Great. So they have control over the internal systems. Any help from the outside?”

She shakes her head. “Just... us.”

She means that they can't trust the larger Bureau and have to hope their own team is on it's way to get them out, but she honestly can't manage that. Hopefully Griffin will get the gist. When she feels their movement stop she just leans against the wall and closes her eyes for a moment.

“Well, that sure don't gives us a lot of options.”

Ding!

In the dark corridor, illuminated by emergency lights and splattered with blood the happy little elevator bell sounds almost comically out of place.

“What...” Lexa looks around to make out where they are. “What are you doing?”

Clarke throws the guns into the elevator, then reaches down to help her stand on her good leg and hobble inside. The doors closes behind them.

“If I'm not mistaken there is one completely isolated system that is bulletproof, accessible only by authorized personnel and probably hasn't been compromised by your new psycho girlfriend.”

In a haze to follow that complicated phrase all she has to offer is a weak. “Not my girlfriend.”

“Whatever. Be quiet.”

She turns some switches on the radio fixed to her military vest and listens intently for a few seconds, then takes the assault rifle, checks the magazine and aims at the doors. They open to reveal two Azgeda men showing their side and she quickly mows them down.

“FBI!” Clarke calls out loudly when the echo of the gunfire has quieted down. “Don't shoot, we're FBI! It's clear!”

After a moment of hesitation multiple people come out from cover and over to them. Lexa recognizes suits and FBI vests, not fatigues, but apparently there is no time for pleasantries because Griffin keeps pushing her outside and onward.

“Agent Woods?” Somebody asks surprised.

“Focus! They are right behind us.” Griffin warns them, passing the rifle and remaining magazines to one of them. “Four men, coming from the east stairwell.

And on they go, running and stumbling trough the control room, then the large basement towards the cell. A firefight ignites on their trail, automatic against automatic, somebody must have stayed behind. There is a loud bang that shakes the walls and Lexa almost falls, but with Clarke on one side and Agent Penn on the other they almost carry her the rest of the way.

Bullets zip past them, shattering the floor. Penn wavers and hits the ground hard. 

He's not moving. 

“The code!” Griffin yells at her and shoves her against the command console, while she returns fire with the gun she stole. There is another agent covering them, but he's behind a pillar not even half way to their position, cut off.

With limp fingers Lexa punches the 6 digit code in and the door hisses open.

“Go in!”

The blonde pushes the heavy hatch closed behind them and throws the gun away in a corner. There is more muffled shooting outside. Then silence.

 

“What do you feel? In your extremities?” Clarke pulls the military vest away from her and starts searching trough it's pockets for anything useful. There is some more ammo, a military first aid kit in one of the pouches, paracord, another knife, lighter...

Lexa just leans back against the cell wall and tries to catch her breath.

“Not much. My fingers are numb. My face is getting cold.”

“Shock is setting in.”

Lexa nods. It's not her first time catching lead.

The blonde grabs a tourniquet and starts binding it around Lexa's injuries leg with no regard for her personal space. If she had any blood to spare she would blush, but not very surprisingly Griffin seems to know what she's doing and in a few moments she's already tightening it, making her scream out in pain.

“Yeah, these things suck.” She comments without real empathy.

Torchlight dances on the cell's external walls as a couple of shooters finally close in on them. When they are able to see them one consults a small array of photographs he keeps taped to his wrist and nods to his companions.

Lexa shows them the middle finger.

 

“Quarterback, rabbits are cornered, but we can't get to them.”

“What's you location, Hunter Five?”

“Basement level. Northeastern side.”

“Hold position, I'm on my way.”

 

It takes a few minutes for the leader to join his men outside the containment cell. None of them has any rank insignia, but the way the others part to let him pass speaks volumes. Staying at some distance in the shadows they brief him about the situation, then he steps up closer to the glass to looks inside.

Clarke is still busy trying to patch up Lexa, but she looks up when she feels his eyes on her.

“Open up Griffin, we are here to take out the FBI, not you. For all I care you can walk right out of here and go on your merry way. You can consider it professional courtesy.”

She finishes taping the last of the gauze in place, then stands up and wipes her hands on her pant legs. It's definitely a mess, Woods needs medical attention as soon as possible. One problem at a time. She walks over to the terrorist.

“How stupid do you think I am?”

He shrugs lifting his both his hands and chuckling.

“You tell me.”

“Your merry band attacked while most of the task force was out, in fact you made sure they were. I'm pretty sure that means they aren't your main target, so no thank you, I don't think I will come out any time soon.”

“Fine, then let's say I give me your word I'll let that one go if you open the door.” He points at Lexa.

“Go fuck yourself.” They both turn to a deadly pale FBI agent still able to add to the conversation. “There is no way you plan on leaving any witnesses.”

“She got you there.” Griffin acknowledges.

Frustrated the man pulls off his balaclava, then grabs a pistol from one of his men and shoots at them several times. All the bullets ricochet off the glass and whir dangerously away in the dark.

After flinching away instinctively Clarke lifts her head again and has a hard time hiding a mocking grin seeing the old acquaintance that was hidden under the mask.

“Just like you Emerson, always using a gun before your head.”

Gritting his teeth the merc reaches for his collar and pushes a button on his radio.

“Quarterback to all positions. Gather the explosives.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out writing long action sequences isn't easy as it seems... Who knew. Hope I did ok anyway.


	8. Chapter 8

Triss is dealing with a lot. She's balancing a cardboard tray of coffee cups in one hand, while searching for something in her purse with her other and pinching her cellphone between neck and shoulder.

“Yes mom, I'm doing my best and they are noticing. It just takes time. It's intense work, but I really like it.” Pause. “You know I can't tell you that. Then why you keep asking?”

She stops for a moment on the deserted sidewalk to roll her eyes to high heaven.

“No, I don't want to hear what Candice told you... What? I didn't catch that, the line is breaking up.” Pause. “I'm not making that up to get out of the conversation. Listen, how about I call you back from my landline, so we can...”

She starts walking again, hurrying over to the Post Office gates, when the conversation cuts off completely. Even stranger, the external gates are closed even though it's the middle of the day.

While she stands there contemplating the situation for a moment an unfamiliar security guard walks up from the opposite side of the metal bars. There isn't one thing out of place on him, but all the same the junior agent is instantly uneasy in his presence.

“Can I help you with something, miss?”

“Yes sure, I...” She hesitates and looks around for moment, noticing a dark spot on the asphalt and a second guard intensely staring at her. Trying to act naturally she adjusts the tray to cover up her gun holster and puts on an innocent and air headed smile on. “I was looking for number 56?”

The guy gives her an understanding nod and gestures to the right. “That's further down the road.”

“Oh thank you, that's very kind. I'm not familiar with this area, you know?”

“It's two lots over, can't really miss it.”

She waves at them. “Thanks again. And have a nice day!”

 

Glancing inside one last time and taking note of the large truck parked there, Triss hurries away in the direction the man told her. As soon as possible she dodges out of their line of sight and abandons the coffees on a trashcan, running until her cellphone shows three bars again she deals a number.

When somebody pick up on the other end she doesn't even wait for them to speak. “What is going on?”

“Where are you?” Anya asks over a noisy backdrop. She too seems tense.

“Outside the Office. The gate is closed, I'm pretty sure the guards are fake and there is a large transport vehicle parked in front of the main doors. I didn't get any alerts though. They may have a jammer inside, my cellphone was acting up along the perimeter.”

“Shit.” There is some rustling. “Lexa called me about an hour ago, she thinks the annex has been compromised. Those may have been Nia's men. I can't get anybody from inside on the phone either.”

“We have to call this in.” That's what you do when something this big happens, she's been taught at Quantico, you call it in and let more experienced agents deal with it. Only thinking about the implications of Anya's words make her go lightheaded to be honest, it's all too real.

“No, she was very clear on that, we can't trust the usual channels. There may be more moles, or they might listen in. We can't risk it, if Azgeda is inside, they most likely have hostages by now. Can you do something from there?”

Triss hesitates. “Anya...”

“What?”

“I'm completely alone here, I don't know...”

“Shut up and think, kid! I'm not asking you to storm the place on your own, is there something within your skill set you can do to start figuring this out?”

“T-there must be an node... I think, has to be close-by somewhere. If I can find it and tap into our lines I can maybe work on getting a look inside through the cameras.”

“That's good, very good. Where?"

“Most likely in one of the electrical boxes around here, I'd have to look it up. I don't think I saw one on the street, so maybe in one of the courtyards or businesses.” 

“You have gun and badge, use them and start searching. But keep in cover.”

She swallows hard. “Ok.”

“We'll be there in two hours, give or take.”

“Hurry!”

“No shit. Get me a copy of the internal layout as well, we may have to go in the hard way.”

 

\- - -

 

The cell is dead silent except for their still heavy breathing.

With Lexa now accommodated on Clarke's cot and the blonde sitting on the floor nearby, the two women take a moment to gather themselves. The terrorists have apparently retreated to plan their next move and left them to their own devices in the stuffy, misted up cell.

After several minutes Lexa clears her sore throat. “So... read any good books recently?”

Clarke lifts her head from where it was resting in her hands, looking confused and only slowly catches on to the FBI agent's joke. Huffing she points over across the streaks of blood, medical tape and discarded military equipment to an orderly stack of newspapers. Her only permitted reading material.

“Right.” Lexa smirks.

“But if we get out of this I better get access to personal items, Woods. Some books _would_ be nice.”

“That seems fair... If we do.”

They fall silent again and Lexa tries to find a more comfortable position, hissing in pain when she makes a wrong move. Trying to take her mind off it Clarke says the first thing that pops into her head. “Come to think of it, I never got my fast food either.”

“That stuff is bad for you anyway.”

The retort is off hand, almost as a reflex, but the blonde whips around and gives her an offended glare.

“Hey! A deal is a deal.”

They look at each other for a moment, then start to giggle at the absurdity of their current situation. Giggling becomes full blown laughter even though it's not that funny, it's all that adrenaline still pent up in their system. Then, when finally they've settled down again Lexa voices _the_ question.

“What now?”

Not really having and answer Clarke slowly gets up to reach for the green military vest and goes through it. First she takes the gun and checks the magazine, then searches all it's little pockets.

“Four bullets, combat knife... Energy bars. Guess one of the mercs gets snacky. Want one?”

The brunette carefully leans back and closes her eyes. “I'm not really hungry.”

Clarke shrugs and stacks them on one of the cell's small  metal  shelves , then continues.

“How long before somebody notices and sends in the cavalry?”

Lexa doesn't answer right away, she takes a moment to evaluate the situation and what they can realistically expect. She's not sure Anya got her message yet and they are purposely independent from the normal FBI channels, but there may be a chance her restaurant shooting scene would rise some eyebrows and somebody would try to get in touch with her.

“No idea.”

 

\- - -

 

The area in which the Postal Service's Sorting Facility was built isn't exaclty prime real estate, most buildings on that street are industrial behemots with tall closed off gates, but as luck would have it the one Triss needs is a little different. She tries to put on a brave face and somewhat confidently walks towards the loud hispanic rap music echoeing from the trucker mechanic shop.

By the time she makes it to the warehouse a small group of sketchy employees has turned away from exposed motors and watches her curiously. It's life or dead Triss, just be confident, she tells herself as she lifts her badge from her pocket.

“I'm FBI Special Agent Triss Thornton and I'm here on official business. I need one of you to show me to your eletrical hookup, the rest of you clear out."

 

\- - -

 

Emerson is standing in the dark, observing the reinforced glass cube from afar. He may seem still and contemplating, but underneath a very thin veneer he's seething with righteous anger. They are already half an hour late on the mission plan, but he doesn't care, this job is personal and he will take all the time he needs to complete it properly. No survivors.

“Sir?” One of his guys steps up, his assault rifle exchanged for a bulky computer tablet.

“What?”

“According to the specs we pulled up for this thing a breaching charge won't be strong enough to crack it. We can double them up, but I'm not sure that will transfer right.”

“So use the C4. We have plenty.”

“I checked, we can spare maybe two bricks and that's still a gamble. ”

Emerson turns to the other merc and steps right up to his face. “We'll use however much we need to get in there and get our targets, got it? Everything else we can sort out at a later time.”

“But...”

Holding his gaze on the man he reaches down and rests his hand on the grip of his pistol.

“Yes sir.” The guy deflates and nods.

“Get it done.”

 

\- - -

 

“Why are you doing all this?” Lexa's voice is hollow and weak.

Clarke is checking her field dressing and it's soaked. Time is ticking by and the brunette's need for more serious medical attention is ever so urgent.

She gives her a forced smile. “You still owe me my burger.”

“Seriously.”

“Ok, fine. I _seriously_ think your sister would probably just leave me down here if there wasn't the added bonus of saving you. She doesn't seem like my biggest fan.”

Lexa's laugh ends up more like a coughing fit. “You may be right about that.”

“But neither of us will have to worry about that, since you'll tell her about my heroics and I'll be granted parole right then and there.”

That makes the FBI agent scoff, but she quickly grows serious again.

“Be honest Griffin, how much blood have I lost?”

“A bit, but it's not too bad...”

“But...”

The blonde looks over to her, her hair mussed and sticking against the forehead, deep blue eyes tinted with sincere concern.

“You can't keep that tourniquet on for much longer, or you'll loose the leg. I don't have a watch, but I've been checking yours... in less than an hour I'll have to open it up again."

"And I'll start bleeding."

She nods. "That's how that works."

"Great."

"Hey, on the other hand your ribs seem to be doing relatively fine..." The blonde assures her. Cracked, not broken, but still.

A few loud bangs on the glass makes them both wince and look up, coming face to face with Emerson, who greets them with a mocking wave.

“Oh for fucks sake.” Lexa sighs. “Just shoot me.”

“Sorry for the wait, ladies.” The speakers carry his voice inside. “The fireworks are almost ready, but since you seem so cozy inside there I thought you could use some nice tunes to kill the time...”

His face is stretched in a cruel grin as he takes out a small device and holds it up to the external microphones. There is a bit of feedback between the two machines, but after a few moments the cell's speakers clear up.

“ _...the CIA internal communication frequencies are 756-23 and 901-78.”_

There is no mistaking Clarke's voice in the recording, an she immediately realizes what it is.

“ _When are they going to change them?”_ A male voice asks.

“ _They'll be in use for the next two weeks at least.”_ Clarke responds promptly.

“ _Perfect. Well, you better go to work on covering your ass then. Are you going to be exposed?”_

“ _I'll manage.”_ Click.

Clarke screams in anger and hits the glass with her open hand, making the mercenary on the other side of it laugh. He points up to the device as the recording starts again from the beginning.

“ _Do you have what we need? It's almost time.”_ The unknown man asks.

“ _Yes, the CIA internal communication frequencies are...”_ She hears herself answer.

“I will kill you, Emerson.” She yells over it. “That's a promise. I will see you dead!”

Suddenly the grin is washed from the mercenaries features, small beady eyes showing nothing but calculating hatred. “You are welcome to come out and try any time, bitch. I'll be waiting.”

He fixes the small recorder in place with a piece of duct tape. Then he turns around and leaves, the audio playing again and again in loop.

“ _Are you going to be exposed?”_

“ _I'll manage.”_ Click

 

The blonde is almost afraid to look back, when she does Lexa is gripping the railing of the cot so hard that her knuckles are bone white. Her eyes are fixed on the ceiling.

“Woods...”

“We are not doing this.” Is her ice cold response.

“What?”

“He wants us to fight among ourselves, so we aren't doing that. We aren't going to have a heart to heart either. We are ignoring it, and we are staying focused on getting the hell out of here, understood?”

Clarke nods slowly. “Relax your arm please, if your pulse rises you loose more blood.”

“ _Do you have what we need?”_

“ _Yes, the CIA internal communication frequencies are...”_

Lexa unclenches her hand, but her entire body is still tense. “Tell me something useful.”

Clarke takes a few steps away from the microphones, but keeps also her distance from the FBI agent. “There is something I was wondering about. There is no way they are planning on getting out the way they came in, half the FBI could be waiting for them outside for all they know.”

Lexa looks over, her gaze still detached, but listening. “They have a lot of C4 with them.” She nods to the men carefully rigging a chain of explosives they'll soon affix to the cell walls.

“To get in here.”

“The way they are making this stuff up as they go? I don't think so. This obstacle was unforeseen, so why would they so much plastic explosive with them? They had another use in mind.”

Clarke turns her back to Lexa so she doesn't have to keep looking at her and thinks. She has trouble coming up with a good answer, but she tries to keep to conversation going, desperate to drown out the ever present recording. “Explosive trap.”

“That's a serious possibility. Another one is a creative egress.”

“They want to open up another side of the building?”

No, that sounds impractical and won't really make a difference if law enforcement is waiting for them outside. Their plan can't be open warfare on the streets of Washington.

“ _756-23 and 901-78.”_

“The sewers.” Lexa suggests.

“Really?”

“It's an old building, there are boiler rooms and all kinds of old tunnels underneath the offices.” She just used one of them. “I've never looked over the plans, but it's not that unlikely that there may be some connecting wall that could lead further down.”

“That's great, but what do we do with this knowledge?”

“Griffin?”

The blonde turns around, alarmed by the brunettes urgent tone.

“Yes?”

“I think I'm about to pass out.”

Clarke hurries closer and kneels down, putting a hand on her cheek to check her temperature. Her eyelids are droopy and all color has drained from her face.

“The cameras.” Lexa whispers. “They are back on.”

A single red led light blinks up on the ceiling.

“How long do I have?” The brunette asks.

“Enough. Just rest a bit.”

“ _I'll manage.”_

 

\- - -

 

Three black SUVs pull in the mechanic shop, Anya and Lincoln being the first to hop off. With them they have only a handful of trusted agents, not nearly enough to storm a fortress like the old postal building, but all more than ready to put their lives on the line for their leader.

“How are we looking, kid?”

Triss walks them over to where she's set up in the small backroom they use as an office around here, two laptops connected to a mess of wires and some old city blueprints laid out underneath.

“I've managed to tap inside, we have visual on almost half the cameras, but no audio. I count about then heavily armed intruders still alive, seven or eight killed in action. We... we've got a lot more casualties. There are a bunch of agents held hostage in conference room C, some others are unaccounted for.”

“Lexa?”

“She and Griffin are barricaded inside the secure cell in the basement, she's been hit in the leg.”

“Show me.”

“Right away, but first there is something else you should see. I'm not sure what...”

At that a large Mexican man with two full sleeves of tattoos comes in the room an puts down a steaming mug in front of Triss. He unapologetically looks the other two agents over with a glare, then turns to leave.

“Thank you, Diego.” The young agents calls after him.

He just nods and closes the door after him.

Anya is baffled, speechless for almost three seconds. “I thought I told you to clear this place out.”

She shrugs. “They have an important work order to finish for tomorrow. They've given over the offices and everything else I asked for, so I didn't want to impose any further, you know? It's fine, really.”

The senior agent is about to give her a piece of her mind, when Lincoln steps in and cuts her off.

“You wanted to show us something?”

Triss nods and pushes a few buttons, the monitor switching to black and white footage of a familiar corridor from above. After a moments Griffin skips trough it's view and Triss cuts to a different angle, following along her path. One, two, three cameras until she stops and enters a room. She sits down at an empty desk with a computer.

“It's about seven minutes after the shooting starts, from what I can tell she wasn't prepared for it, but adapted pretty quickly.” The junior agent explains.

Griffin starts to type and it's pretty clear it takes her a few tries, but the locked screen is no match for her. As soon as it gives way she starts consulting internal FBI directories, reading and glancing to the door from time to time to make sure nobody is sneaking up on her. 

“Any way to know what she was doing there?”

Triss shakes her head. “Not from outside, it's all secure. She finds what she's searching for, reads documents for about ten minutes, then leaves again. On her way out she sneaks past a few shooters, empties the pockets of a dead agent, then runs into Agent Woods and helps her to safety.”

“Ok, we'll file that under 'problems for another day'. Now give me the real time feeds.”

The view shifts to empty offices, then blood stains on walls, two gunmen guarding hostages, some more military types wiring up something, then finally to the secure cell. Lexa is laying motionless, her leg wrapped in dark bandages with Griffin leaning over her. There is even more blood pooling on the floor. Anya's mind goes blank and she grips the edge of the table to stop herself from punching a wall.

She's not the right person for this kind of stuff, if it was up to her she would walk over there with her sidearm and just start shooting he way to her sister, but all that would get her is more dead agents. What is she supposed to do now? What would Lexa do?

“I..” She tries, unsure of where she is going with this.

“What's that? Zoom in there.” Lincoln points to the screen.

Triss does as she is told, even though the picture quality deteriorates significantly. Griffin, leaning over Lexa isn't helping her, but shielding herself from outside view. She is signaling something with her hand over and over to the camera.

Chiding herself for her moment of weakness Anya leans in closer, trying to make it out.

“Numbers I think. And... sign language?”

Lincoln nods and takes down the digits on a pink post-it he found on the mechanic's desk, then watches the final few signs closely.

“Subway. Exit. I think. It's been a while, I'm not a 100% sure.”

“It's a phone number. The numbers.” Triss informs them after a quick search on the other computer. “Washington area, but it's unlisted. The owner is in the Cayman Islands, probably a shell company.”

“I don't give a shit, call it.” Anya tells her.

The rookie deals on the shop's landline and presses the button for speakerphone.

It rings a few times.

Connects.

...

 

“Blake Security Solutions. May I ask who referred you?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I'm increasingly getting slower at writing these and I'm sorry. I took on a lot of stuff professionally and it's wearing me out a bit. I hope it's still good, we aren't even half way there yet.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here come the Blakes!

“Blake Security Solutions. May I ask who referred you?”

The FBI agents exchange a look between them and Anya leans in to mute the call. Triss gets the message and immediately starts to type furiously on her laptop, pulling up anything she can find about the firm, be it on their databases or online.

“Small private military contractor out of Washington, all employees are vets of some kind. High profile security, kidnap and ransom management for oil tycoons, stuff like that mainly... They seem dialed in, approved for government work overseas, but I can't access any of their past assignments.”

“Classified stuff probably, could be how Griffin knows them.”

“May I ask again, who referred you?” The voice articulates again with finality.

There is a tense moment, with Anya silently asking Lincoln for help, but the man just shrugs. They are all completely out of their depth by now and it's not like they have any better ideas. She grits her teeth, then presses the mute button again.

“Clarke Griffin.”

Two full seconds of silence pass.

“Is this a joke?”

Irritated she picks up the receiver of the old phone.

“Listen here pal, I don't have time to go into it, but here are the cliff notes: Griffin and a number of FBI agents are currently being held captive by people intent on killing them sooner rather than later. I do not have the manpower to get them out of there myself, but she seems to think you can help with that. So either step up or shut up, we don't have much time.”

Again there are a few moments of silence, then finally:

“Give me an address, a representative will be there within the hour.”

 

\- - -

 

Clarke watches with worry as another brown brick of plastic explosive gets attached to the walls around them. Fortunately Emerson's man seem to be dragging their feet and triple check each wire before they move on to the next, precious time that may yet make a difference between being blown to smithereens and escaping this deathtrap. Come on Octavia.

A whimper behind her make the blonde turn to her injured companion. 

Lexa's pale face is shiny with sweat and her breathing labored. She's drifted in and out of sleep for a while now, finding some peace made difficult not only by the pain but also the continuous playing of that awful recording. Over and over without pause they let it roll.

“ _Do you have what we need? It's almost time.”_

“ _Yes, the CIA internal communication frequencies are 756-23 and 901-78.”_

As much as she wants to let the agent rest and spare her some more of this torture, a quick glance to her watch tells her that would be ill-advised. Instead she reaches over and lightly shakes her shoulder. “Woods?”

The brunette just scrunches her face up for a moment and goes back to sleep. It's almost cute coming from the usually stoic woman, but Clarke doesn't' let herself dwell on that thought and shakes her again, a bit harder. “Woods! Come on.” 

This time her eyes slam open and she looks around unfocused. “Costia?” She breaths.

Clarke pulls her hand back. “No. It's me, Griffin.”

“Oh.” 

That's all she says, but the blonde can see her look harden as it all slowly comes back to her. What happened. Where they are. Who she's with. It's heartbreaking to watch, so Clarke tries not to and instead busies herself with their meager first aid supplies.

“I'm sorry, but it's time. I have to take the tourniquet off.”

Still half asleep Lexa nods before really understanding what she is saying, after a moment it sinks in. “How much time do I have after that?”

“Not long.”

_“Are you going to be exposed?”_

She looks down to her injured leg covered in a mess of dirty bandages, her poker face now fully back in it's place. “And if you don't do it?”

“ _I'll manage.”_

_ Stubborn. And reckless.  _

“It won't help Woods, without medical help the dying leg would just poison the rest of your body. Same end result. Just trust me on this, we take it off.”

_“ Fine.” Her hand closes around the cot's railing to steel herself. “Do it.”_

 

\- - -

 

Forty minutes after their call a slick black car pulls into the mechanic's lot and a good looking young man of olive complexion steps out of it. He wears the expensive suit and easy smile of a DC lobbyist as he saunters over, not quite what the assembled agents were expecting.

“Bellamy Blake, Blake Security Solutions.”

“Woods.” Anya points to herself, then over to the others. “Forrester and Thornton. FBI.”

He nods, shakes their hands, then goes right to the point.

“I've gathered from your call that the operation is time sensitive and I'll try to be brief, but I hope you understand we have to discuss terms before we agree to do anything here...”

Of course, Anya thinks. “We don't have any money, dude. We are federal employees.”

Blake smiles amicably and shakes his head.

“Payment isn't an issue, your status as federal law enforcement officers however is. Our organization can't legally operate on American soil without an official mandate and this most definitely isn't official, is it?” He pauses briefly, but it's clearly a rhetorical question. “Your main problem is that we don't know you.”

“You mean you don't trust us.” Lincoln supplies, never having much patience for euphemisms and wordplay.

“Same difference. Same problem.” The man throws back, showing there is some steel under all that cushy PR friendly demeanor of his.

Anya has never heard of a military contractor offering pro bono work, but time is quickly running out on this rescue operation so she pushes past the questions that are starting to pile up in her mind and tries to stay civil. 

“I'm guessing you didn't come all this way just to decline, so how do we solve it?”

At that pretty boy fishes a tablet from an inner pocket and pulls up some documents.

“NDAs. Non negotiable and ironclad. If you try to fuck us over on the flip side, we'll sue you into oblivion. It's mutually assured destruction if you will. Initial each page, then signatures at the end.”

Triss takes the tablet and tries to skim the dense agreement.

“We have no interest in screwing with the FBI, that would be very bad for business. All it does is protect my people from prosecution or any other liabilities.” He assures her. 

After a moment of hesitation and a sullen nod from Anya she pulls out the stylus and starts to fill in what's required from her, then passes it on to Lincoln.

“Why are you doing this anyway?”

“Let's say Clarke Griffin has an open account with us and leave it at that.”

As soon as the paperwork is all squared away more of Blake's people show up with a van and a young woman with dark hair takes charge. An Asian guy carrying a heavy duty portable computer that puts Triss's setup to shame tries to politely introduce himself, but she just pushes him past and into the office. 

“He's Monty, I'm Octavia. Those outside are grunts, don't bother.” That's all the introduction they get, before they go to work setting things up. “Tell us everything we need to know.”

To be honest Anya is a little impressed.

 

\- - -

 

As expected Lexa's wound starts to bleed profusely again, already soaking trough the new dressing Clarke put on moments earlier. The blonde is holding the last of the gauze down with her hands now, but it's a loosing battle, Woods is pale as a ghost.

She curses quietly and chews her lip.

Field transfusion kits are delicate things, often stashed in the back of military first aid kits and forgotten by soldiers who don't really know how to use them. They can rupture, no longer be sterile or have any number of other problems that make them risky to use. Even if they are in perfect working order a direct transfusion is still a dangerous endeavor for both parties involved.

So why is she reaching over for the small bag and feeling for an artery in her arm?

“Hey Woods, focus. What blood type are you?”

The agent's eyes flutter open again after a few moments of loosing consciousness and she clears her throat. “A...B negative.”

“That's good. That's good.” Griffin's voice is sounding farther and farther away. “Don't worry, we are getting you out of here. Both of us.”

“If you say so.” She mumbles and is out.

Clarke prays she's not doing something stupid and whispers what she remembers from her emergency training to herself to keep her hands steady.

“...from a donor artery to a recipient vein, occurs spontaneously upon connection and relies on quick transference to mitigate clotting...”

Her mother wouldn't approve. Abby Griffin would probably throw a fit right now.

The needle goes in and the transparent tube turns red quickly, connecting her to the other woman. Woods. Special Agent Lexa Woods, somebody whose life she has utterly ruined. That's the reason right there, she decides, it's just a small token she can offer to make right what she messed up in the past. 

She owes her.

It's a good answer, a satisfying one. It makes sense.

“I'm not all bad, you know?” She tells her while she's unconscious. “It's complicated, you don't know the whole story so I get that you may think that and you aren't all wrong, but... you aren't all right either. I'm... Fuck, I don't know what I am, but I'm here and can give you some of my blood, so there is that. Must be worth something I hope...”

She's getting choked up, so she just shuts up and listens to the recording a few times unwrapping one of the energy bars. 

 

“ _Do you have what we need? It's almost time.”_

“ _Yes, the CIA internal communication frequencies are 756-23 and 901-78.”_

“ _When are they going to change them?”_

“ _They'll be in use for the next two weeks at least.”_

“ _Perfect. Well, you better go to work on covering your ass then. Are you going to be exposed?”_

_“_ __I'll manage.”_ _

 

_“ Just don't die. Please.”_

 

\- - -

 

“We are online. Lookout, you are a go.”

The video stream connects to two guys messing around with skateboards, both with go pro cameras fitted to their colorful helmets. The footage from their viewpoints is shaky and confusing at first, but the shape of the quickly nearing postal building is easily recognizable.

“Now watch this.” One calls out to the other over the background noise.

He starts some kind of move, but instead of ending in a spectacular trick, he looses his balance and wipes out completely in front of the main gates, scraping his knee badly on the rough pavement. The other man stops his board abruptly and runs over to the fallen.

“Oscar worthy.” Monty comments with a grin.

The fake guards seem to have left their position and nobody else comes out to check what the ruckus is about, so one of them takes off his helmet and positions it to have a good view of the interior space. While the camera maneuvers around they briefly see a silenced gun tucked away in a ridiculous funny pack. Who are these people?

“No more truck.” Triss points out on the monitor. “They must have moved it out the way.”

Octavia nods. “Underground parking most likely. Jasper, give me a good look at the gate.” 

They watch from first person view as the skater stands up and still a bit unsteady leans against the steel slats for support. Far more deftly than his incident would give him credit for one of his hands snakes inside and inspects the lock.

“It's definitely wired O. I don't see the the payload but it must be close by.”

“How long to dismantle it?”

“Blind? No way to tell and I don't think I could do it covertly. This ain't the way in, chief.”

Octavia examines the feeds for a few more moments, then nods to herself.

“Ok, turn in then. And put a band-aid on that booboo.”

“You got it. Jasper out.”

She peels the headset off and turns to the group of agents and mercenaries. Her brother has slipped out of that stupid jacket of his, rolled up his sleeves and is studying the maps closely. He's of course the first to speak up in, must have read something about it in one of his books about leadership and management skills.

“So they probably don't plan on leaving that way. Clarke said subway exit, right? According to your blueprints there are three spots in which the building's foundation touches on old sewer lines that could be big enough for something like that. With the right charges it's possible.”

“Sounds fun. So where does that leave us?” Agent Woods shoots back.

“Well, we could do the same thing.” Octavia suggests before those two start to argue.

The FBI agents seem dubious. “Do you have that kind of hardware?” The handsome one asks.

“No, not at hand.” Bellamy shakes his head. “We could get everything we need of course, but it would take... a few hours I think.”

“No way, Lexa doesn't have that long.” 

They had all watched closely as Clarke did her best to help the shot agent and Woods is probably right on that, but the place is a fortress. They've booby trapped the only clear way in and their way out doesn't even exist yet. It's a mess... Suddenly it hits her, a stupid fucking idea nobody else would ever come up with in a million years. In other words, exactly what they need right now.

“They do! They have everything we need.” Octavia clarifies. “We could just use their stuff.”

Her brother opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it again. Agent Woods just blinks a few times. In the end they turn to Monty, who twirls a pencil in his hand thinking it over. 

“I'd have to talk to our explosives expert, but if we find the right spot and they've set things up already we could detonate it remotely and go in that way, it's true.”

“Of course they've set things up already. Come on, an operation like this...” Octavia presses.

“It's likely. We could go down there with an electronic bomb sniffer, drill a few pilot holes and make sure. After that it's just about sneaking in a detonator from our side and hijack the thing.”

Octavia nods along, getting more and more exited. “It's done.”

“It's a crap shoot, but it's what we have I guess.” Bellamy grants. “Monty, pick up Jasper and go survey the locations, O and I will put together the breach team. We'll need some kind of distraction to lure them away during our entry.”

“I have an idea for that.” Monty assures them.

He nods and turns to the FBI team. “Agent Woods, we'll have your people back in no time.”

“Like shit you will.” She bites back. “We called because we needed some more bodies on this, not a mommy to hold our hand. We are the F-B-I, is that clear? If you go in there we'll be right with you or I'll arrest all of you, NDA be damned.”

Bellamy takes a step back from her in surprise and doesn't know what to say for a moment. It's such a rare thing, that Octavia can't contain her glee and laughs out loud. 

“I like her.” She nods. “She's a fucking boss.”

Agent Forrester (the handsome one) gives her a smile.“You have no idea.” 

She shoots him a look, then smirks. “I like you too.”

 

\- - -

 

“Tell me something...” Lexa's voice is scratchy and she's slurring her words a bit, but she's back. She opens her eyes a bit a frowns down to her arm as if she just notices the tube coming from it. “Are you giving me blood?”

“Just a little top off until the cavalry arrives.”

“Mmh.” She hums warily.

“What were you were saying?”

“I don't know. I... Just... tell me something to distract me. Something other than that fucking thing.”

“ _Do you have what we need? It's almost time.”_

Clarke nods and tries to think of something, wiping her hair away from her face with her left arm and leaving a red streak on her forehead. Her right one is stiffly held close to Lexa to keep the transfusion going. It's a nice gesture, but it won't help in the long run, she thinks.

They are just staving off the inevitable.

“Yes. So... How about this,” The blonde starts to ramble. “I have fallen a bit behind on my contemporary literature in the last few years... Since I'll soon have library privileges, how about you give me some pointers? Any good books I should check out?”

“That's...” Her voice cracks and she has to start again, her throat painfully dry. “That's the best you got?”

“Yes. And no thrillers please, give me something fun.”

“... _ are they going to change them? -  _ _They'll be in use..._ _ ”  _

She must have fainted again for a moment, because Clarke is shaking her and it startles awake. She doesn't open her eyes though, they feel heavier then lead.

“Mh. D-do I look like I read fun stuff?”

She hears a laugh at that and it's a nice sound, one she could stand hearing more often. It's a strange thought to have in the situation, but what the hell, she's probably dying anyway.

“What's taking so long?” She asks nobody in particular.

 

\- - -

 

The breach teams are suiting up all around them, testing out radios and pulling long guns out of padded bags when Octavia comes over to Triss's desk. She's already in a black tactical vest with her hair braided back and some kind of dark warpaint smeared under her eyes. "Hey, you still have control over the cameras inside, right?" She asks without any preamble.

"Partial." Triss nods, slightly intimidated by the warrior woman.

She taps on the monitor with a gloved finger. "How about this one, right over their cell."

"I can't turn it, if that's what you are asking."

"No, that's not it."

"Three minutes!" Somebody yells and a man passes by and hands Octavia a bunch of magazines she starts to stash away in pockets around her midriff with practiced ease.

"Access it. Here is what I need you to do..."

 

\- - -

 

Clarke is holding her breath. The terrorists have apparently finished up their work on the cell and retreated back into the shadow, probably to fetch Emerson for the great fireworks show.

Time's up and she's got nothing. 

She plucks the needle from her arm and stand up, figuring she can at least shit talk the guy for a few more minutes before she faces the music. It's not much, but... a blinking red light on the glass catches her attention, it's the reflection from the single working camera above them.

The camera is blinking irregularly. 

Shaking her head she stares at it for a few moments, then roughly shakes the brunette awake.

“Woods? Woods!”

“Mmh? What?” She sounds better and even has a bit more color in her cheeks.

“Listen, things are going to pick up here. Are you good to go?”

“What?” She pushes Clarke away. “Good to go for what?” 

“Take this.” The blonde presses the gun in her hand and covers it up with the blanket. “I don't have the details, but my guess is that all hell is going to break loose. There may be an opening, but remember, you have only four bullets. So make them count.”

“Griffin, what is going on?”

 

An explosion shakes the building.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit scattered I'll admit, but the good news is that I decided to take it a bit easy the coming week so the next on may come a lot sooner than usual... (As always, no guarantees)


	10. Chapter 10

“Can't you go a bit faster?” Anya hisses impatiently.

The mismatched group of a dozen FBI agents and military contractors is standing in a dank sewer tunnel up to their ankles in sludge, while Jasper uses a handheld scanner to find the electrical wiring affixed to the opposite side of the wall. Ever few moments he takes the piece of chalk he has hanging from the corner of his mouth like a cigarette and draws a line.

“Well lady,” He mumbles around the thing, “if they are in fact using C4 it should all be pretty stable, but in this line of work it's usually wise to double check everything before you bring in the power tools. That being said...” He pauses for one last pass of the scanner. “...I think we are all set.”

He circles an empty spot where a bunch of his previous scribbles all point to and gestures one of his colleagues to pass him the drill. At slow speed and without much noise the old brickwork crumbles away, until the bit sinks in completely. After pulling it out Jasper theatrically sniffs the residue left on it.

“See? It's probably some Russian surplus crap they picked up for cheap somewhere, you can never know what to expect when you go for the bargain...”

Anya shoots Octavia an incredulous look to which she responds with an exaggerated eye-roll. “Noted, professor Jordan. Can we go on with it now?”

Without looking over, he gives her the middle finger.

“Blasting cap.”

Again one of the operators provides the requested object, a small metal cylinder connected to a bobbin of wire of their own. Jasper pushes it inside, then slowly walks backwards unspooling the orange line until he reaches the corner where everybody else is waiting.

“I'm serious this time, you all might want to back up a little more.”

They all gladly do, while he takes up position on the very edge and pulls his goggles down to cover his eyes. It's always hard to suppress a grin at this stage, so he doesn't even bother trying.

Everything is set, it's showtime!

He cracks his neck to each side, then presses a button on his radio.

“We are ready Monty, let her rip.”

 

\- - -

 

The cheapest car Diego's mechanics had around their shop was and old off-white Toyota pickup truck. Even with the servos and cables Monty has haphazardly mounted inside it isn't worth more than the couple hundred bucks they paid for it in cash.

“Roger that, Jasper. Road's clear?”

“All traffic is being rerouted, you can proceed.” Comes an agent’s approval on the same channel.

Praying all the duct tape and zip ties he used to put this monstrosity together will hold, Monty extends the antenna of his bulky remote controller. Looking down from his perch on the opposing rooftop he guides the vehicle slowly down the street until he can line it up with the front gates, then when he's sure everything is ready he puts on his best Mythbusters voice and announces:

“This is... Remote controlled car against terrorist IED, in... three, two, one...”

He presses the gas on the controller, a crude lever does the same inside the car.

The pickup launches forward, accelerating quickly, hits the fence and boom! A black and orange cloud rips the little guard house apart, the wall of hot wind hitting him almost immediately even at almost fifty yards distance, while pieces of cement and metal rain down all around the blast zone. It's enough fireworks to taken out a whole convoy, given the chance.

“Gate clear!” He shouts over the ringing in his ears.

Three black SUVs with flashing lights drive down the deserted road towards the now wide open lot with smoke and dust slowly descending on it. He hurries away and leaves the roof by the fire escape on the back, pressing his earpiece again.

“Front entrance is being secured as we speak, how we looking Triss?”

 

\- - -

 

Even two levels underground there is a loud thud and significant tremor when the explosive trap goes off. The frequencies come alive with chatter. They can understand only one in three words, but it's pretty clear the men inside are preparing for a frontal assault by law enforcement.

Jasper counts quietly to ten, giving them some more time to clear out of the room, then he dutifully whispers “Fire in the hole!” and clicks on the detonator.

A second, more controlled detonation startles the terrorists and demolishes the wall at their backs. It’s not picture perfect, but a large hole is ripped right where they wanted it, opening a passage to the foul smelling sewers beyond.

“Who the hell did it? No order was...” Shots start to ring out from the dark and the yelling man crumbles to the ground before he can reach for his weapon.

“FBI! Put down your weapons!”

That clears the situation up sufficiently and they all scramble to fighting positions.

“Contact! Contact! Return fire!”

A furious gunfight breaks out in the underground of the annex, with Emerson's men pushed on the defensive by the unexpected ambush and slowly retreating out to the corridors. Two masked men are left behind on the ground, one dead and the other heavily wounded, while only one agent is hit in the arm by enemy fire.

Pushing her way to the front, Anya grabs him by the vest. “You good to back out on your own?”

He nods, switching from the rifle to his handgun. “All good, it's just a graze. I can stay and cover the exit with the crazy bomb guy, Woods.”

He’s new, she doesn’t even remember his name, but like Lincoln he did serve before going through Quantico and he doesn’t seem at all fazed by his injury. With what’s going on all around them it’s something she can’t really afford to pass on.

“Fine. Do that.” She pushes him in that direction and turns to Ocatvia on the door. “How's it looking?”

“They are on the run, but regrouping fast. Next time it won’t be this easy.”

“You heard her, time to split up. Lincoln, take half and go up the east stairwell for the hostages in the office. Triss can help you navigate around any patrols.”

Bellamy points at two of his: “Atom. Dax. Go with him.”

Anya frowns. “Just two?”

“Be glad you get those, you are not paying us to rescue those people, we are here for Griffin.”

“Fine.” Splitting their forces evenly, she ends up sending five of her seven remaining agents with her colleague, but there is no time to argue. Together with the Blake siblings she lays out generous cover fire, then they move forward in the direction of their main objective: The basement.

The radios crackle with terrorist’s transmissions:

“Breach! Exit route compromised.”

“Moving to secondary checkpoint, please advise!”

“Contact on ground floor. Under heavy fire.”

That's right fuckers, time to pay the piper.

 

\- - -

 

“How we looking Triss?”

Left alone in their improvised op center, the young woman watches the monitors intently. Things are happening fast all around her, most of them like they planned, but it's controlled chaos at best. She tries to stay focused and manage all the moving parts.

The front lot is clear and the doors covered by a small detachment of federal agents that will soon be reinforced by local police. It’s highly unlikely the terrorists will risk a confrontation out in the open like that since they’ve gone to such lengths to plan a different exit.

The breach team has made quick progress in pushing forward and Lincoln’s group is positioning itself to take the sparsely protected conference room with the surviving hostages. Most of the terrorists have peeled off from that position to reinforce their companions in the main firefight, as have those that were guarding the basement. Good, it's working.

Emerson however is going against the current, pushing his way through his own men and towards the lower floor while barking orders on his radio.

“Barricade the corridor to the breach! Prepare to reroute retreat to secondary exit, but hold all positions until mission objective. Nobody fucking moves until mission objective!”

There is a cacophony of complies from his men.

Goddammit. She grabs her own transmitter.

“The leader is going for them, do it! Now!”

 

Up on street level Monty has reached a large utilities box nestled between two industrial buildings next to the mechanic’s shop, the very same Triss has tapped into earlier to get all her feeds.

“Do it now!”

At her order he lifts a pair of insulated bolt cutters and starts to sever all the cables inside, sending sparks all around himself and even up a nearby lamp post. The systems inside the unassuming gray box fight back with horrible sounds and flashing control lights, but after a few more seconds of carnage they shuts off for good leaving just the smell of burnt plastic.

 

Inside the Post Office everything goes dark.

 

There is a sinister whirring sound and several monitors around Triss go suddenly black, all that’s left are a few external views she’s borrowing from traffic cams. Her laptop is momentarily flooded with error messages, but she just claps it closed and sighs.

“To all agents: We are blind, I repeat, we are blind. Good luck.”

 

\- - -

 

Emerson runs down the gloomy corridors and away from the continuous chatter of automatic gunfire echoing from all corners of the building. When he finally reaches the basement even the emergency lights are flickering off one after the other, bathing the area in deep inky darkness. He pushes the heavy doors open and clicks his torch to life.

“This is not how it ends, bitch.”

The bright cone of light swing around in the large space, giving him glimpses of the crude concrete floor, the square support pillars and finally a reflective cube of metal and glass. Its insides are also pitch black.

“This is not how it ends,” he repeats under his breath, “I decide when we are done here.”

He pulls his gun and walks inside slowly, creeping towards the primed detonation box. It's dead silent, just his steps and heavy breathing as he closes in. He kneels down, resting the light besides him on the ground and opens the clear plastic cover over the buttons and switches. Something is wrong, he suddenly realizes: Where’s the recording? It’s not playing anymore.

He activates all charges. Nothing.

“Fuck.”

This operation has to be cursed, not - one - thing can go as it should! Rage bubbles up uncontrollably, threatening to make him lose it once and for all, but then he considers a different side of it… And an evil grin stretches out on his face.

“Hey Griffin, you finally out here?” He calls out with a chuckle. “That's even better!”

Leaving the torch where it is, he grips his gun with both hands and stalks towards the cell, trying to make out if somebody's still inside. Halfway there he sees where the wires connecting to the explosives have been crudely cut, confirming his suspicions. With all power cut off the magnetic doors must have unlocked and there is no way she could have left the room without crossing him. She's still here.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” He singsongs swiveling from side to side to clear his advance. All his anger is forgotten, replaced by trembling anticipation. He’ll kill her with his own hands, make it ugly and gruesome and satisfying. He’ll leave her broken for them to find.

Something clatters down inside the cell.

Immediately he whirls around and rushes towards it. One, two, three heavy steps then the light catches the flash of a blade. The blonde shoots out from behind a pillar and her knife slashes through his sleeve, bites flesh. His gun goes flying away in the darkness.

A second stab comes for his face, but he manages to smacks her arm out of the way and follow up with a punch to her collarbone that sends her back several feet.

“That's what I'm talking about!” He grunts, gleefully meeting her furious grimace. “Show me what you got, you stupid fucking...”

He's cut off as they clash again in a short hand to hand exchange, but Clarke can't get her knife to connect now that the mercenary is prepared for her.

She's tired and admittedly a bit out of shape after her long stay in captivity, while he’s got more than 50 pounds on her and the wild fervor of a zealot. Maybe she should have spent more time on getting that prison bod, she muses. No matter, a promise is a promise.

She lurches forward, the blade going for his lower torso, but he catches her wrist and twists it painfully. She switches her knife hand and grazes his chest, he keeps her pinned by an arm and pulls her even closer, grabs a fistful of her hair, slams her downwards with force.

There is a flash of white when her face connects with the concrete. The blade clatters away.

Pain floods her senses.

She’s disoriented.

Her arms tremble when she pushes herself back up to all fours, but he's already towering over her and kicks her in the side. A rib cracks and she collapses again, coughing and heaving.

“I would love to drag this out some more, really take my time with you, but I guess we can’t always get what we want... I have places to be.”

He lifts a steel tipped boot over her head and prepares to stomp her to death like a cockroach.

“Better than any fucking explosion.” He cackles.

Clarke closes her eyes.

 

Shots reverberate in the room.

A bullet hits him in the shoulder, two more hit thigh and knee. He stumbles at the first impact, then collapses like the ground is pulled out from under him.

 

Lexa.

Barely holding herself up on the jamb of the cell door, holding the gun out with an unsteady hand as buckets of blood flow down her leg and into a small puddle at her feet. She looks like a ghost and her voice sounds hollow and strained.

“Slowly stretch your hands out on either side of your body and don’t move. You are under arrest, any sudden moves and I won't hesitate.”

Clarke painfully pulls herself away from him and crawls over to her knife. As soon as the brunette notices what she is doing however, she shifts the gun with the last bullet over to her.

“Stop Griffin, it's over. He's down.”

Ignoring her, she closes her hand around the cold handle and lifts herself up to a sitting position. Just to catch her breath, only a few short seconds she tells herself, then one more push and she's back up on her feet.

“Griffin, don't fuck everything up now. We are done here.”

The blonde turns to her, her gaze ice cold and a big bruise already coming in on her cheek.

“Tell me you really give a fuck about this guy, Woods. He's scum sent here to kill both of us and everybody working upstairs, every single one of your agents. He deserves to die.”

Lexa's vision is starting to blur with black spots, her hand slipping around on the metal edge.

“I agree, but that's not how things work.”

Emerson grits his teeth and turns his head around trying to find a way out of the mess, instead his eyes fall on his gun, only a few feet away. He's badly hurt, but maybe...

“Don’t you ever get tired of this pretentious white knight act? It's not like…”

He launches towards the pistol.

"Clarke!"

 

\- - -

 

Bellamy changes his magazine while the FBI agents cuff some injured terrorists, his sister helping enthusiastically with keeping one of them pinned to the ground with her knee. Most of the fighting has stopped, but he knows it's important to remain vigilant and focused.

That's when shots ring out from further down the hall. Three shots. From the basement.

Octavia looks up, their eyes meet. On his left Anya takes off running.

“Cover her!” He calls out to the others and sprints after.

Another single shot echoes in the underground.

Then silence.

Thankfully nobody crosses their path until she smacks against the doors and fumbles to pull them open, giving the Blakes enough time to catch up. Seven or eight different light cones feel around the large open space as the entire group fills inside and fans out, it's a matter of seconds before they find them: Three bodies and a mess of blood.

“Lexa!” Anya hears herself call out desperately.

They rush forward, Octavia sliding to her knees as she reaches a sprawled out Clarke and start roughly patting her down for bullet wounds. The blonde coughs in pain and weakly lifts her hands in defense, but there's no stopping the younger woman.

Lexa is crumpled against the cell, a now empty gun still faintly smoking on the ground beside her. “Hey,” Anya crouches over her, “hey, how are you? Still with me? Talk to me Lex.” She searches for her pulse, but it's weak. “We'll get you out of here in no time. You just have to hold on a little bit longer.”

It's Bellamy who kicks away Emerson's gun and roughly turns him over, revealing his face destroyed by a bullet in the cheekbone. He's gone.

“You sure took your sweet time to get here.” Lexa mumbles leaning into her sister.

Octavia snorts and finally Octavia stops torturing Clarke. “That's your sister alright...”

Anya rolls her eyes and pulls her in hug.

 

\- - -

 

The sun has completely set when it's finally over. There are ambulances, local police and FBI vehicles everywhere, the whole street is clogged with them. Two police helicopters fly low circles over the postal building and illuminate the whole area with large floodlights as a the few terrorists that haven't been killed in the fighting are marched out in cuffs.

While uniforms cordon off the surroundings and manage the small crowd that has formed outside, FBI SWAT teams go in and work systematically to clear every nook and cranny of the huge structure to make sure there are no remaining hold outs. Everything is “coordinated” from a hastily built command tent in the bombed out parking lot where senior agents from all different agencies bicker over jurisdictions.

In short, it's a mess.

 

In the basement paramedics finish securing Lexa to the stretcher with Velcro straps, she finally passed out but they've assured them she's stable. They hoist her up and carry her towards the exits, a third man following closely with a bag of blood and one of saline solution on slow drip.

Anya feels like she can finally breath again.

There is a few people also getting medical attention, but mostly they are just milling around down there until a CSI unit can get to them and secure the scene. Even Emerson's corpse hasn't been moved yet, just covered with a reasonably clean sheet from the cell.

Octavia looks around, her rifle nestled in the crook of her arm and clears her throat. “So Clarke... we getting out of here or what?”

It's loud enough for most of them to hear and the room falls silent. There are about double as many of Blake's people than able bodied agents around and some of them have already put away their long guns. Fuck, Anya thinks, how could she be this stupid?

Nyko gives her a subtle nod, two more have twitchy hands hovering over their holsters, but it's not enough. Bellamy is nowhere to be seen, she realizes, probably preparing their exfil in some way.

It's tense. You could hear a pin drop.

“I don't think so, O. That would be stupid.” Clarke answers casually, while she holds her arms up over her head so a medic can check on her ribs.

Octavia shrugs. “Suit yourself.” And just like that Blake's people stand down, nonchalantly unzipping their tactical gear, one even fishing a pack of smokes out and patting himself down for the lighter.

The agents wait for Anya's say-so to do the same.

What just happened?

“Hey but seriously, thank you for coming.” The blonde walks over to hug her friend with an exhausted smile. Between weapons and injuries they have to maneuver around a bit awkwardly, but they manage. “Sorry I drag you in this whole mess.”

“Yeah well, everything's a mess when you're involved.” She shoots back and gets a playful shove in return. “But that's what makes it fun.”

They exchange a few more pleasantries, then Octavia turns to Anya. “If it's alright with you boss, we were thinking of taking the back door and calling it a night. It's almost curfew for a few of these though guys.”

“That's probably a good idea, yes.” She agrees, no need to broadcast the presence of an extra-legal military force on the scene. They exchange a quick nod and shake hands while her people pick up all their stuff and start moving out towards the corridors.

Just as they are going, Lincoln comes in through the door.

“Pleasure working with you, agent Forrester.” Octavia pats him on the back. “Call me whenever.” She shoots him a cheeky wink and walks past, leaving him mumbling something and looking to his feet like a giant bumbling idiot.

Anya groans. “Did you need something?”

That at least seems to shake him out of his rambling. “Ah, yes. Kane just arrived, Triss is with him now. He want a full debrief as soon as possible on what happened here.”

To their great surprise Griffin steps up of her own volition and puts out her wrists to be cuffed.

“Let's get this over with.”

It's been a long day for everybody.

 

\- - -

 

Most of the guys already crossed back into the sewers, it's just Jasper poking around the terrorists' remaining bomb making supplies and her brother anxiously waiting for her like usual. Octavia gives him a reassuring nod and grabs Jasper by the collar. “Come on Wile E. Coyote, time to go.”

“Everything ok up there?” Bellamy asks gathering up his kit.

“Yeah, she didn't want the rescue after all.”

“Told you. Anything else?”

She looks around making sure they are alone, then reaches into one of her vests pockets and pulls out the crumpled note she felt Clarke slip her during their hug.

“I'm not sure yet.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie, this story arc has been challenging to write, I'm really looking forward to the return of a slightly slower pace for a few chapters. That doesn't mean things aren't going to continue heating up of course, but I've written enough combat for a while, it's time to go back to dialogue and intelligence stuff. Maybe even some... thawing relations?
> 
> Let me know what you think, like always I'm a sucker for some good discussion in the comments ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys tbh, real life is kicking my ass. Sorry for the wait and I hope this is readable.

Two weeks later - Senate Select Committee on Intelligence

 

Even though the hearing is closed to the public, there's still a small crowd of insiders gathered in the seats behind them, most notably she clocks Raven Reyes in second row. Anya is not sure if the CIA officer is there just to listen in or if she's been called to offer her testimony too, there's more than enough mess to go around and Ontari was one of her people after all, but it still seems unlikely. Somehow the Agency always manages to weasel out this kind of stuff.

Finally the clerks have finished distributing all the necessary dossiers to the somber looking senators, there's a quick roll call and the committee is seated. Chairman Thelonious Jaha adjusts his table microphone and doesn't waste any time going straight to the point:

“Peter Colton, Zoe Monroe, Glen Dickson, Costia Green and Wells Jaha.” He pauses briefly, “By all accounts five exemplary officers that lost their lives in the line of duty. Stars on the wall of Langely. That's of course not discounting their seven other colleagues that suffered severe and in many cases life altering injuries during the attacks of October 2013 against the Central Intelligence Agency. A terrible price they paid for their efforts to protect American lives and for which we'll all be eternally grateful.”

The man's cold eyes wash over the assembled FBI agents in front of him, the slightest hint of disgust oozing from behind his mask of utter decorum.

At Anya's side Kane leans forward, towards his own microphone: “Is there a question, Senator?”

“My question, Deputy Director, is this: How can you justify working with the person that has their very blood on her hands? A convicted traitor to this nation. Clarke Griffin.”

 

\- - -

 

After Emerson's siege the Post Office had been declared one big crime scene, so the task force has arranged for her temporary transfer to a safe house in the city. The apartment they stashed her in isn't very big, there are bars on all the windows and the phone doesn't work, but it's a nice change to the 10 by 10 feet cell she had been living in for the past weeks. She even has free access to a bathroom now. One she doesn't have to share.

The following few days start to feel like one long time lapse though. Not much happening, no access to sensitive intel for the time being and absolutely no operations. She wakes, does some exercises, reads her newspapers, goes back to bed. Rinse and repeat, over and over. Agent Forrester, or Lincoln as she starts to think about him, comes by regularly to check in with her detention team and brings fast food, another positive development, but that’s it.

Sometimes, like today, he stays a bit and keeps her company while they eat. The man isn’t much of a talker, but his calm reassuring demeanor is a welcome change to Clarke’s own nervous energy.

“So…” She asks while she tears small pieces from the receipt and piles them up on the table in front of her. “How’s she doing?”

She's learned that Quint and Tristan didn't made it, Artigas is alive, but it doesn't look like he will be able to pass the physical any time soon. She wonders about some others, but she doesn't even have names to match to their faces.

“The second surgery looks good, but there's a lot of PT coming her way.” He finally offers after taking his time to pull the containers out of the grocery bag one by one.

“Mmh, that's good.” She mumbles, opening a box and stuffing a handful of fries in her mouth. For some reason she feels a bit awkward asking about Woods, like she’s back in middle school or something. It's stupid. “You better remind her that's thanks to me.”

That gets her a small smile and a head shake. “Yeah don't worry, she's aware.”

“Is she?”

“She is. And she told me to give you this.” He pulls out a thick manila envelope and slides it over besides her double cheeseburger. Clarke picks it up and curiously peaks inside, then puts it away and keeps eating without comment. It's two softcover books, one bright red and the other orange.

“Something about a promise?” Lincoln offers trying to be helpful.

It's a nice gesture of course, but she's not really good at those. More like out of practice. Her first reaction would usually be a snarky comeback, but that feels wrong today so she just nods and waves him off hoping he'll get the hint.

“Yes, thanks. How are things at the office, we getting back to work soon?”

“They are still looking into things. There's a hearing in the next few weeks to decide.”

Oversight hearings are a pain, she’s seen more than her fair share, but you probably can't avoid having one after fighting a small scale war in a federal building downtown. What worries her is that when the politicians get involved there is no way of telling how things will shake out.

“Mmh. Well, if they send me back to prison just bring me a last meal, will you? Food in prison is garbage, and not in the good way.”

He sits down and starts digging in himself. “We can do that.”

“Great gyms though.”

 

\- - -

 

“I understand that the work of my team may not be conventional, but in a relatively short amount of time we've already made inroads towards our final goal of dismantling Azgeda. That’s more than we can say for almost any other probe in the matter to date, isn’t that worth some leniency on protocol?”

Judging from their impassive faces it’s not likely, these men (because of course they are almost exclusively men) have made a career out of red tape and procedure, if one or two have seen the field in their day it's nothing more than a distant and faded memory by now.

“Can you enumerate some of these inroads for our records, Deputy Director?” An older Senator allows.

“It’s thanks to our new approach that we were able to limit the loss of life during the most recent attack against the Agency, if Agents Woods and Forrester hadn’t warned the gathered officers about the imminent danger the only survivor would have likely been Ontari Scott, a mole planted by Nia Queen herself.

We now know, thanks to what we gathered from her phone and home, that Scott was tasked with disseminating false intelligence aimed at misleading our investigation while she was actively preparing a similarly destructive attack against the FBI. Again Agent Woods with help from Clarke Griffin managed to stop that.”

“Stop it?” Jaha scoffs looking down to the documents in front of him. “What I see here is a shooting in a very public venue that then led directly to the annex being attacked and the death of 21 agents under your supervision. Would you really call that a success?”

“If it was in fact a contingency, there was no way of knowing that Senator!” Kane counters forcefully. “I would even go as far as to argue that the small warning we got is what saved the few that did make it out alive that day.”

Thankfully somebody else jumps in before the back and forth can escalate further. “Has any progress been made in identifying the terrorists?”

"I'm not at liberty to discuss details at this time Senator, but we are reasonably certain that they were Azgeda affiliated, part of the same design that put the CIA task force out of commission. It’s clear by now they want us disarmed and blind so there will be nobody standing in the way of their next act.”

“And you are all being pretty helpful in that.” Anya murmurs only loud enough for her colleagues to hear, but apparently still catching the eye of somebody on the bench.

“Do you have anything to add, Agent Woods?”

“No, Senator.”

“Any idea what this next act could be then?”

She briefly looks over to Lincoln. “Nothing concrete Sir, but we are working some leads.”

 

\- - -

 

No official work. That doesn’t mean that Anya, Lincoln and Triss can’t visit the safe house on their own time and sit around a table with America’s most loathed traitor to talk shop, so that’s exactly what they do as soon as the dust begins to settle. Just a bottle of bourbon, Triss’s trusty laptop and a yellow legal pad, the new Azgeda task force.

“Have you ever heard of the Mount Weather Militia?” The blonde asks after draining half her glass.

“Survivalist gun nuts, aren’t they?”

“Mh. Originally they had an environmentalist streak, a mix of rural folk with an axe to grind and city dwellers convinced that society was about to collapse. About fifteen years ago they built a series of bunkers out in the sticks and were determined to wait out the imminent nuclear war there, then rebuilt a better, anti-industrial America. They even had their own legitimate President.”

“Dante Wallace.” The rookie supplies eagerly, she turns her monitor to show a mugshot of a rugged man in his late forties looking resolutely into the lens.

“That’s him.” Clarke nods. “He’s been indicted for gun related charges at some point in the nineties, been behind bars ever since. To this day he has a bit of a following in eco-pessimist circles for his writing.”

“What does this have to do with Emerson?” Anya asks unimpressed.

“After Dante and some of the old guard went to jail the group’s leadership passed on to his son Cage. With no nuclear war in sight his message has shifted a bit from what I hear… you know, degenerate modern world and that kind of rhetoric. That has attracted a lot more right wing types like Emerson. On occasion they do some mercenary work to finance their _cause_ , if you can call it that, but to me this seems even more than that. I’m starting to think the Militia and Azgeda have come to an understanding.”

“How do you figure?”

“Nia is a former spy, most of her people we managed to identify are too. She seems to have a type: disillusioned, capable, smart... She fancies herself a headhunter, recruiting agents that feel like their potential is wasted in their current position. That’s Azgeda.”

“That’s how she got you?” The words are out of Anya’s mouth before she can stop them.

Clarke looks over to her and there’s a long moment of silence at the table. Fuck. It’s not even like she meant it, but that’s just how she talks. Blondie should know that by now. Lincoln doesn't look impressed either.

“I understand that,” He thankfully tries breaks the tension, “but you said it yourself, these guys are pretty much white supremacists with a woodland theme. Why would they work with a Russian?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s not that much of an ideological stretch when you think about it. To boil it down, they both hate the federal government.” Clarke continues, still a bit taut. “Nia has a large clandestine infrastructure in place, but she never had any need for overt muscle until now. This is a new development, something that could point us to what she is planning next.”

“Something she needs and army for.” He considers.

“Great.” Anya huffs to herself.

 

\- - -

 

Having to defend each little decision they made recently, even the usually calm and collected Kane is starting to show signs of exasperation. Since nothing else seems to work he pushes his carefully organized notes to the side and goes off the cuff.

“Senator, this is not to exculpate of Clarke Griffin, but isn't the trove of information about Azgeda operations she possesses one of the reasons the death penalty was taken off the table during her trial?”

He actually scoffs at that.

“No Deputy Director, a very misguided plea bargain is responsible for that travesty and let me assure, you won't find any support for it in this committee.”

It's probably non completely true that Jaha talks for all of them, but no one is ready to stand up for them while they are down, that's for sure. They all seem content in watching silently as the chairman proceeds with his personal inquisition trial.

“Don't get me wrong, I'm all for the extraction of useful information from terrorists, but there are far more efficient ways to do so without stooping to this... coddling behavior. If you aren't ready to do it Deputy Director maybe the case should go to somebody who is.”

That finally goes a little too far even for a closed door hearing, so the senator on his left briefly changes the subject, but they still aren't willing to put stop to Jaha's show. Mere minutes later it's back to him again:

“I think it’s pretty clear Deputy Director Kane is ready to stake his reputation on this unbecoming tactics, but I’d like to hear what the agents directly involved with handling the prisoner have to say. Agent Forrester, I understand you are a decorated combat veteran.”

“Yes, Sir.” He responds curtly.

“What are your thoughts on working with a convicted traitor?”

“Sir, I’m not a judge, I’m an federal agent. As you've correctly stated Clarke Griffin has been convicted of her crime and will serve out her sentence, that’s not going to change. Regarding the current situation however, I think there is the potential to get a substantial boon to our investigation for a comparably small risk and no cost to the public. It makes sense.”

“So you are in favor of continuing this collaboration.”

“Yes, that’s my opinion, Sir.”

Clearly fuming, but not willing to go against somebody he just talked up as a straight shooter, he finally turns to Anya, probably the least diplomatic person in the entire building. “Agent Woods?”

“I think it’s a waste of time Senator.”

It's almost comical how the senator perks up. “The investigation?”

“No Sir, this hearing.”

That does it. Five different senators start to talk over each other while the combined chattering from the audience behind them drones over what they are trying to say. Somebody even laughs as a gavel starts to bang against the table. “Order! I call the hearing to order!”

It's almost worth the glare Kane shoots her way, so she baths in the chaos for a moment longer before she pulls her microphone a bit closer and tries to make up for it. “Senators, if I may...”

A dozen hostile state representatives look down on her.

“Go on Agent Woods, but know that I'm this close to holding you in contempt.”

She forces herself not to roll her eyes and nods. “What I meant to say is that we are wasting precious time when our enemy is surely not. Like you noticed public speaking isn't one of my strong suits.” Again, a chuckle from the cheap seats, but nothing from the bench. “I have a written statement from Supervisory Special Agent Alexandria Woods, who is still hospitalized for the injuries she suffered at the annex... I think that would probably be better.”

They think so too. Copies are distributed to the committee members and Anya is asked to read it into record. She clears her throat.

“Honorable Chairman, Honorable members of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence,

as you probably know I have personal reason to be resistant to this collaboration...”

 

\- - -

 

“Wait. There is a piece missing here.”

“What do you mean?”

Anya is tired and cranky by now, so she doesn't let up. “What’s your personal connection to Emerson? Lexa told me he was more than keen to get his hands on you at the Post Office, he's got a beef with you.”

Triss looks over to Lincoln trying not to laugh and mouths “Beef?”

“I'm the one that got him dishonorably discharged.” Clarke tries to stop there, but it's clear the agents won't be satisfied with such a glib answer, so she goes in a bit more detail. Not too much. “They were looking into him for gun smuggling and alleged ties with international terror when I was at Operations. This is before I took over, I was just and officer at the time so I don't know everything. Emerson got renditioned for it and I was tasked with his interrogation.”

“On American soil?” Triss asks maybe a little bit tipsy. “That's illegal.”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”

“Right, now you suddenly are all for proper protocol…”

“Fine, it was while he was deployed in the middle east, but take a hint Anya, you don’t want the headache of knowing this kind of stuff. In the end he wasn't selling to the Taliban but shipping toys home to his friends at Mount Weather. Suffice it to say nothing much came of it officially, but he clearly held a grudge all these years.” 

“That's it?”

“Yes.” She looks down to her glass, trying to dodge any more questions. “I suspect that's why he's the one that was sent for us, he may even have volunteered for it.”

“Ok fine, let’s pretend we believe you. Now what?”

Still with her eyes on the table Clarke points to the monitor.

“If you can get me in with Dante Wallace I think I can get us some more current information, I got to know him while I was investigating Emerson. If I can get a line on Cage you guys can pick him up and roll him on Nia.”

“Easy as that?”

She shrugs. “One can hope.”

It's not much of a plan, but it's something, and they are all eager to feel like they are actually doing something besides waiting. They quickly divvy up the things they'll need to arrange the visit and Anya takes some notes since she'll have to brief Kane about it as the acting squad leader.

“Anything else?”

“Yes, I'll need clothes and some other things, he knows me as somebody else.”

“Of course he does.” She huffs exasperated getting up from her chair. “Just make a list.”

It's late and the hearing is quickly approaching, so they call it a day. Lincoln stretches his back out while his two colleagues gather their things and slip into their jackets. Clarke retrieves the empty glasses and puts them in the sink to wash them later, almost looking forward to the change.

“Good night.”

As they start to shuffle out of the apartment Anya looks down to the small side table and notices a paperback, red with an imprint of a black hand on it. She looks back up to Clarke, but she has her back turned so she decides against saying something and closes the door behind herself.

“Come on Woods, let me check in with Nyko and the guys then I'll drive you home.”

“Mmh.” She vaguely nods in Lincoln's direction, but her mind is elsewhere. “Hey Triss, did you ever check on those files she was snooping around at the Office?”

The young woman looks up from her phone and nods. “Yes, DOJ legal records. It slipped my mind because it didn't seem that nefarious, sorry.”

“What case?”

“Her own.” She shrugs distractedly finishing her text, but when she notices Anya frown she quickly adds, “I don't think she got much though, most of it is under heavy restrictions.”

Something's not adding up here, like usual.

“Print me a copy?”

“I'll have it on your desk tomorrow. Bye.”

 

\- - -

 

After five excruciating hours the hearing is finally adjourned. While security guards escort the senators out from a convenient side exit, the common folk are left to patiently wait their turn to leave as the single door is quickly jammed up. That's how Anya and Raven find themselves unintentionally side by side.

“That was pretty ballsy up there.” The CIA officer tells her in lieu of a greeting after they awkwardly stand there for a few moments “You know they can have you fired, right?”

“If only. I'm feeling the strong urge to back to being a beat cop lately.”

“That would be fine by Senator Jaha I think.” The brunette's eyes stay pointed forwards, but there's the slightest hint of a smile on her lips. Anya huffs a laugh herself, but it's not very convincing.

“Fucker should just recuse himself.”

“Yeah, that's not going to happen.”

“No shit.”

Some bureaucrat finally gets his shit together and the line is moving again, but that only means people shift out of the way and Kane sees Anya. He calls over for her to wait, probably to tell her exactly what he thinks about her little improvisation.

“See you around Woods.”

 

\- - -

 

Raven gets away from the crowd and into an elevator, only then she gives herself permission to lean briefly against the metal wall and knead her sore thigh a little. It's not a good day.

She has to lean heavily on her cane when the doors open again and she trudges out to the underground garage. Fortunately her car is close, but the dull pain is almost distracting enough to make her miss a figure waiting in the shadows.

“Reyes.”

She jerks around and stops her hand half way to her waist. The sudden move makes her leg flare up again, but she pushes it down and raises and eyebrow at her ambusher.

“Trying to get shot Blake?”

“Oh please.” The woman scoffs. “There's no way I caught you off guard with this weak shit, did I? Not the great Raven Reyes.”

She's leaning against the wall trying to look harmless, but there's a shoulder holster peaking from inside her black leather jacket to remind everybody that she's not. Her hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail and there are a few steri strips stitching a small cut on her eyebrow.

The Latina rolls her eyes. “What can I do for you?”

“I need a favor. Oh, and Bellamy says hi.”

Typical Octavia, no preamble whatsoever, she just searches her inside pocket, pulls out a ratty piece of paper and passes it over. Raven takes it, but doesn't move to open it up.

“So it was you guys at the FBI annex, I was wondering.”

The brunette grins brazenly. “I don't know what you are talking about, Deputy Director.”

“Of course you don't. What makes you think I would lift a finger to help Clarke?”

“I don't know what you are talking about,” She repeats, this time a bit more dryly, “It's me asking you for a favor and you owe me one at least, don't you think?”

Oh God. “Still going on with that shit?”

“I mean...” She shrugs dramatically. “I did almost die.”

“So you keep saying.” More curious than anything else she unfolds the note to take a look inside. It's just two lines, scribbled in an unmistakable chicken scratch. “You've been holding that over me forever and you'd give it up for this? Why can't she just ask her new FBI pals?”

“Beats me. So we got a deal?”

Saying there's no love lost between her and Clarke Griffin is an understatement, but in her line of work favors are a precious currency, she can't really go back on this. Still, why does her entire past have to come back to haunt her at once? She hasn't heard a beep from these people for years and now every day somebody comes knocking. It's definitely not a good day.

“No more whining.” She demands.

“No more whining about the time you almost blew up my whole unit. Or the elbow that still hurts when the weather is changing. Or my favorite combat helmet being destroyed by said explosion. You have my word.”

Yeah, that's not going to happen, she rolls her eyes. “Fine. How do I contact you?”

“Here, take my new number.” She hold out a pristine business card.

“Blake Security Solutions? I see.”

“A legit name for a legit enterprise. All out in the open.”

“Sure.” Legit.

“Hey, we should go out some time. Like we used to.”

She shakes her head, stiffly getting into her car and stashing the cane on the passenger seat. “No more dancing for me, Octavia.” Nothing is like it used to.

“You can still drink, can you?”

She chuckles and drives off.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it, one more antagonist for you since the stakes weren't high enough.  
> But on a lighter note... Side couples anybody? Now that they have all met you can mix and match Lincoln, Octavia, Raven and Anya to your heart's delight ;) I don't have definitive answers... yet.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I got sick.

_Honorable Chairman, Honorable members of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence,_

_as you probably know I have personal reasons to be resistant **|**_

 

The cursor blinks at the end of the unfinished line.

Lexa stares at it.

She’s sitting up in her hospital bed feeling slightly awkward in the scratchy gown they gave her. Resistant. Is that even the right word? It sounds dignified on paper, but also totally unfit to describe the thorny tangle of emotions that’s taken up residence in her since she’s started working with Clarke Griffin. There are no words to convey that, not once she would use with the Senate Intelligence Committee at least.

She turns to the window framing the beautiful sunny day outside and aches to escape all this quiet she’s been exiled to. Birds are chirping in the park and there are too many hours in the day. Too much time. To think. It’s the fucking worst.

She huffs and slams her laptop closed.

“What did that thing ever do to you?”

Startled, Lexa looks up to a wild mop of curly brown hair peeking inside her room.

“Luna.” She greets, a genuine smile flashing for a moment, then disappearing just as quickly. “Who told you?”

“Are you kidding?” Her friend pushes the door open and slips fully inside, revealing her usual ansable of thight jeans and deep green bomber jacket. “That giant mess at your place is all everybody is talking about at the office, it wasn't that hard to guess you would have been right in the middle of it.”

Lexa keeps looking at her unimpressed, even lifts an eyebrow at her when she tries to keep playing innocent, until...

“Fine. Lincoln let it slip at the gym with Derek.” The woman admits with a guilty grin.

“Oh come on, I specifically told him not to.”

“Gee, thanks. What did I ever do to you?” She crosses her arms mock offended.

“Don't start, you know how you get all... worried and stuff. I just didn't want you to drop everything and run down here for no big deal, you have more than enough on your plate already...”

“No big deal.” Luna scoffs, flopping down on only chair in the room and making herself comfortable. “Well, your cunning plan failed little Lex, I'm here and I brought you these.”

Rummaging in her jacket’s pockets she pulls out two fake candles. She pushes the button on the underside and a small flickering orange light turns on, barely shining through the off white plastic.

“Aren’t those for churches?.. And funerals?”

She gives her a very serious look and shakes her head while placing them on her nightstand. “No open flames in the hospital dude, I asked.”

Lexa is taken aback for a moment, then snorts a little and they both break into laughter.

“It's good to see you.” She tells the newcomer, reaching for her hand.

Luna gives her a warm smile in return. “Good to see you too partner, all in one piece no less. How's the leg?”

Lexa pulls the comforter back with a shrug, it looks pretty gruesome. Her pale thigh is black and blue where the bandages aren’t covering it up, signs of both the gunshots and the two operations, one emergency and one reconstructive, but at least they’d removed the ugly surgical drain the day before.

“It's pretty shit, but the doctors say I'll make a full recovery, or close to it, if I have patience.”

That makes Luna laughs. “So you'll probably walk with a cane for the rest of your days.” 

“Yeah.” It’s just a harmless joke about her pigheadedness, but it conjures images of Raven Reyes and her very real limp that will never go away. Of the explosion, or rather their aftermath she studied for hours on glossy pictures, of office supplies and glass shards strewn on the floor and bodies covered under stained red sheets. “Probably.” She murmurs.

The change in mood doesn’t go unnoticed by Luna, but she decides to give her a moment.

“So.. the laptop?” She asks then, trying to get her attention back.

“Oh.” Lexa had almost forgotten about it. She reaches over, drumming her fingers over the cold metal surface. “I'm supposed to write a statement for a hearing since they won't let me attend.”

“And...?”

An understatement seems the way to go. “I'm having trouble.”

Luna hums serenely, and she knows that means she won’t let it go.

Point in fact, "Griffin?"

Lexa spins her head around and looks at her friend, who just shrugs.

"Wasn't that hard to put together to be honest. I heard through the grapevine that you are working on Azgeda with a new top secret source, a woman, and there aren't many people who can get under your skin like this."

She nods dumbfounded. All the names in the documents pertaining to their cases have been redacted and substituted with pseudonyms, but with enough pieces of the puzzle it's probably pretty easy to fill in the missing ones.

“Close your mouth before you catch a fly.”

She closes it and rolls her eyes. “Yes, it’s her. I…”

She’s grown so accustomed to compartmentalize her work related information even from other agents since she's joined Counterintelligence, that it takes her a moment to even formulate what she is struggling with. With anybody else she probably wouldn’t even try to explain, but since it’s Luna she puts in the effort and bumbles her way through.

“I'm not sure how you say... you know... This person is responsible for the death of my fiancee, but that's OK because she's being mostly nice now...?”

Her old partner doesn’t respond right away, doesn’t give her some half baked feelgood line either. She takes her time.

“Is that how you feel?”

Lexa breaths in slowly. “I guess. It's... complicated.”

“No kidding... Let's start with the basics: If you think it's something you need to do for your unit or your case you don’t really have to mean it, you can write what they want to hear and then just forget about it. Yes Griffin is fine. Done. It wouldn’t make you a bad person.”

“I'm pretty sure they want me to say the opposite to be honest.”

“That sounds more like you. Fight the power and all that.” She gives her a small grin. “Ok then, same principle applies, if you think it's the right thing to do...”

Lexa is silent and looks over to the window again.

Is it the right thing to do? Who knows.

“Tell me about her.”

For some absurd reason she thinks Luna is asking about Costia, that’s who Lexa was thinking about and she's always had a strange knack for reading her mind, but that makes no sense. They knew each other pretty well before it all went to shit.

"I don't know where to begin."

“She is nice now? Mostly?”

“Kind of. She's helping with our investigation. And she got me out of the annex.”

“Well that's a big plus in my book.”

It is, Lexa is pretty sure she wouldn’t be alive if it weren't for Griffin. It’s not like she wants to deny that, she’s grateful, but how do you weigh one positive act against her crimes? How do you weigh ten? Or hundred?

“She's still a traitor Luna. She got Costia killed, and a lot of other people.”

How do you weigh one life against another?

For once even Luna doesn’t have a wise answer.

After a few moments she asks, “Are you sure of all your facts about that?”

Lexa nods. “Anya and I worked the case, she confessed. And there is a recording. It's ironclad.”

“Motive?”

“Money.” She says weakly. It's something she hasn't spent much time on originally, too blinded by a burning need to catch her quarry. Now, after meeting and working with the woman, it feels weak and out of character.

Facts over feelings, that’s how you crack a case, a familiar voice tells her. The evidence is there.

"She did it for money." She repeats absentmindedly.

“Are you paying for her collaboration now?”

“No. She wants Nia and Azgeda off the board for her family.”

“And she's good at her work.”

No denying that. “Very.”

The silence that falls between them isn’t uncomfortable, it never is, besides her own sister Luna is probably the person that knows her best in this world.

“I may be out of line here Lex, but Costia wasn't a girl scout. She was well acquainted with the necessities of getting things done in the world, do you really think she would have a problem with this? Coloring outside the lines was basically her entire job description.”

The clock ticks on for a while before Lexa responds.

“She looked up to her, you know? I would have to listen for hours as she gushed over how cool her boss was. Clarke Griffin did this, Clarke Griffin did that. I want to be Clarke Griffin when I grow up.” She huffs out a hollow laugh. “It was driving me crazy. Then, after everything that happened... For the longest time I kept asking myself how she could have fallen for that act.”

She has to turn away, unwilling to look at Luna or the too cheery window she settles on a slice of empty wall. Empty and grey like she feels right now.

“She was such a good judge of character. Trained in that kind of things too. And now...”

Now what? She doesn't know.

“Now you are asking yourself if you are doing the same.” Luna finishes for her.

Tears finally tip over her burning eyelids and roll down to her chin.

She nods.

Luna pulls her chair up and gives her a side hug, her softly padded arm snaking around her waist and pulling them closer together. Lexa tries to take a deep breath, but she hiccups painfully and has to clear her throat.

“What if she’s playing us again? I can’t...”

What if somebody else dies because she let her guard down?

They stay like that for a bit, it’s not very comfortable but it helps

“You'll figure it out.”

Maybe.

“Can we talk about something else for a bit?”

A pause.

“I heard you finally went on a date again and shot the girl. Tell me about that, because I'm not sure you remember, but that's not how things are supposed to go... Now I understand you are rusty...”

Despite herself Lexa lets out a wet laugh.

“She started it!”

“What are you, twelve?”

Luna ends up staying for almost four hours, even flashing her FBI badge to the nurse when she comes to shoo her away. She pressures Lexa into watching trashy reality tv, eats half her jello and proceeds to catch her up to every little piece of gossip floating around their old office in a way that makes time fly by and worries melt away at least for a bit.

It's only after it's dark outside and her cellphone starts to beep every few minutes with messages that she finally admits that she has to get home, but promises to swing by again soon.

“You'll figure it out.” She tells her again before taking her leave.

 

\- - -

 

On the other side of the city the small apartment is dark and silent, only the lamp directly over her the small writing desk is on. Clarke’s lazily flipping through some of the magazines that published Dante Wallace’s writing in the last few years, but her mind can’t seem to focus on the task at hand at this late hour.

Just before she’s about to give up and let her eyes finally flutter closed there’s a noise, some sort of mechanical click, unfamiliar and out of place. She turns on her seat and tries to make out what it could be but comes up empty, so she stands up and pats over barefoot to the living room.

Still nothing. Everything is perfectly still.

Then the phone rings, it’s old fashioned chime tearing the silence apart.

She picks up.

“Hello?” The line is noisy, but she’s pretty sure she can hear somebody on the other end. “Who is this?”

“Mommy?” A small voice whines.

“Madi?”

“Mommy?” She’s crying, her little girl is alone and crying somewhere. “I-I-I was go… going to school…”

“Where is grandma, Madi? Is Aden with you?”

“I-I’m sorry, I… He...”

“Don’t be sorry baby girl, just tell me what’s going on.”

“I-I was going to school with Aden and… and.. there is a police officer Mommy.”

Dread washes over her like ice water, her knees threatening to buckle under. Not again. She opens her mouth, but just a strangled sound escapes it at first. “Madi, tell me where you are.”

There's some rustling and the phone changes hand, she hears a new voice on the other end.

"Ma'am, I'm told this vehicle we stopped is on your name, can you confirm that for me?"

"Stop! Stop! Not again." She screams. "Let her go, please! I'll do anything you want!"

"This time it won't be that easy." The police officer tells her in a voice eerily resembling that of Nia Queen. "You broke the rules."

A gunshot rings out and Madi lets out a bone chilling shriek.

 

Clarke shoots up screaming, tangled in sweat drenched sheets. She fights against the tangle for a few moments in panic before throwing them away and stumbles out of the bed and out of the small bedroom. Her heart is beating a mile a minute.

Still breathing heavy she opens the fridge searching for some water, but is distracted when she hears somebody at the door. The lock scratches, her hand hovers searching for a knife not thinking that they have all been removed by her guards, then the knob turns and Niko looks inside.

Clarke lets out a shaky breath and nods in his direction.

“Everything is fine, I'm not trying to run. Just... catching up with some homework.”

She gestures towards a pile of printed papers. All the literary output of Dante Wallace in the last five years, his prison records and any intel the FBI and the rest of the alphabet soup have on Mount Weather, her constant companion in the last few days.

The bearded agent looks around, nods, but still lingers.

“I have to do a walk trough ma'am, it's protocol.”

She waves him in, after the nightmare she almost welcomes his presence. “Coffee?”

“Black, thank you.”

He takes his time checking every room and the windows, Clarke in the meantime puts down a mug for him, then sits down on the couch and takes some of the papers to at least pretend to read them. It's boring stuff she's already gone trough and she's dead tired. As soon as Niko leaves she puts it down and switches to Lexa's book, still too unsettled to go back to bed.

After ten minutes she's sound asleep.

 

\- - -

 

_Honorable Chairman, Honorable members of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence,_

_as you probably know I have personal reasons to be resistant to this collaboration, my fiancee Costia Green was among those in the secure room that day in 2013, among those that lost their lives because of a bomb that Clarke Griffin helped plant and detonate. It’s because of her direct actions that a piece of my heart, the very best piece I’m convinced, is now lost to me forever._

_I invested my every waking hour for months in the pursuit of the then unknown mole, without regard for my own safety or health, both of which suffered greatly, until with the help of many other excellent investigators and agents she was apprehended, put on trial and sentenced to life behind bars._

_You can consider those my credential in speaking about this matter._

_I deeply understand the impulse to keep a person that has taken so much from us locked away till the end of days, it’s the very same I vehemently expressed to my superior, Deputy Director Marcus Kane, when he introduced me to his idea of this task force. It’s a righteous impulse, but I have come to believe recently not the right one._

_Our first and most important duty is to the people, all of them, not just our departed loved ones that so often take up most of our thinking. As good as it may feel to persist in our position I believe we are doing them all a disservice by depriving the Azgeda investigations of its most knowledgeable source, who has shown herself repeatedly to be a reliable and motivated ally in this pursuit even without being offered any tangible reward._

_Honorable Chairman, as hard as it is, we have to put our personal feelings aside and accept that if we ever want to see Nia Queen apprehended it will happen by working with Clarke Griffin. Such a decision on your part won't mean we forget, it won't mean we forgive, but it will show our commitment to see this business to it's conclusion using all the means at our disposal. To this end I am willing to take personal responsibility for the prisoner and all the proceedings involving her and the investigation until the aforementioned goal is met._

_Supervisory Special Agent_

_Lexa Woods_

 

_e-mail sent yesterday at 03:21_

 

\- - -

 

"Woods? You ready?"

The homely nurse that comes to pick her up takes the time to look around the room. They had a little bit of a discussion the past few days about how much Lexa is supposed to move around while she's healing, but today can't find any signs that the FBI agent got up on her own and nods satisfied to herself before she helps her from the bed to the wheelchair and pushes her outside.

On the way to the elevators they make some small talk, but like usual it quickly turns to an interrogation in which she checks if her patient has eaten, rested and done the simple exercises the doctors have shown. Having learned that the older woman won't take any shit from her and turns around on a moments notice if she isn't happy with the answers Lexa dutifully obliges until the metal doors ding open on the restricted floor.

Two armed guards greet them and have her a sign in sheet. The nurse stays back.

"I'll be back in an hour. Call if you need anything before then, honey."

On her own she rolls herself trough the quiet hospital corridor towards the last door on the left, but slows down when she sees a young doctor with heavy bags under his eyes is filling in some forms in a corner.

"Doctor Alvarez.." She greets.

"Let me cut you off right there Agent Woods, I have to leave soon." There is no hostility in his voice, just the predictable slut exhaustion. "There is no significant change from your last visit, vitals are all good considering. She's still under observation, but mostly all we can do is wait."

Lexa nods, but lingers a bit.

"Does that about cover it?"

"Yes, thank you. Have a good weekend."

"Weekend?" The man chuckles. "I'll be back here in eight hours, so we can do the entire number from the top again tomorrow."

Shaking her head she rolls herself to her destination and pushes the door open to a sparse hospital room, the one she's spent almost as much time in as her own. The woman inside is officially signed in as Jane Doe, it's the name on her file and the medical bracelet, Lexa insisted on it.

The one _she_ knows her by is Ontari Scott.

Tubes snake out of her throat, machines help her breath and a heart monitor beeps regularly in the corner. Two shots in the chest will do that to you. For some reason, maybe nothing more than a chance of scenery from time to time, she started coming over here to get some work done.

All Kane lets her have is light busy work, she's aware he and her sister are keeping the real stuff back, but at least it's something to do while her team is being poked and prodded by career politicians who'll get to decide if their investigation has a future.

She looks to the comatose woman.

"No pressure, but it would really be helpful if you could wake up soon and start talking."

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The same response she got for weeks.

"Have it your way then."

Thankfully before she can get any further into this sad monologue her cell phone chimes, it's a message from Anya.

“Kane just called, we got tentative approval."

 

\- - -

 

Strong hands shake Clarke awake and she clumsily tries to defend herself, scattering magazines and printouts to the floor. Her surroundings aren't immediately familiar.

"What the hell?"

Slowly the apartment, the ratty couch she fell asleep on and an all too amused face come into focus.

"Wake up blondie, we are back in business."

"What?" She asks still a bit dazed.

"We are going for Wallace."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was home sick a few days after my trip and it has thrown my schedule completely out of whack, it took me longer than I'd hoped to work myself back to a point where I could take some time to write for myself. Sorry ;)
> 
> From now on I'll stop pretending that anything more than a chapter every two weeks is doable I think, but we are seeing this trough, promise.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've flaunted my lack of beta reading quite a bit, but this time it's for real, I didn't have time to go through it at all so you may find some very ugly ugly stuff in there.  
> Hope it won't ruin the fun, and if you see something, say something. (So I can edit it out and pretend to know how to spell stuff)

Walking down the drab corridor Clarke clears her voice and adjusts the collar of her blouse, both things she'd already done three or four times since arriving at Cumberland Federal Prison. Briefly catching her reflection on a reinforced glass window she can't stop herself from running a hand through her newly done up hair, now brightened by pink highlights. She almost looks like a person again.

"Will you give it a rest? It's like you've never done this before." Anya reprimands her.

Lincoln and her are walking a few steps behind Clarke followed by two guards, who aren't too thrilled to be ordered around by feds. She knows the feeling all too well. "Leave me alone, it's been a while."

Last time she stepped inside this place she had blood red hair and a fake nose ring. Raven had helped her with the dye job and complained for weeks about the ugly splotches it left in her bathroom sink. The nigth before the operation they'd hit a few college bars to "see if the disguise worked" and ended up drinking a frankly monstrous amount of cheap booze. The memory makes her smile for a moment. Luckily deep bags under her eyes and an obvious raging hangover had worked well with her cover as a grad student researching fringe environmentalist movements.

"Well, get your game face on, there's a lot riding on this."

That was a different life.

She cracks her knuckles nervously and hums in agreement. "I'm ready."

A guard steps forward and  passes his card. The door buzzes loudly and he pulls it open for her.

Inside, the small rec room is empty except for a Dante Wallace standing at an easel. Clarke isn't surprising, even after all these years he's still incendiary enough not to be permitted any unsupervised contact with the other prisoners, but she suspects the old man has come to like  it like that. His hair has gone completely white since her last visit, the same color of his pristine prison coveralls in sharp contrast with the dozens of canvases leaning against the walls all around them.

"Good morning Mr. Wallace, thank you for seeing me. I wasn't sure you would remember me after all these years." She greets him, talking a bit louder to be heard over the classical aria flowing from a rickety gramophone a corner.

He gives her just a quick glance while he swirls his brush around in a water cup, then goes back to mixing his oil paints, but takes a moment to turn the music down a little. Everywhere depictions of deep forests and beautiful pastures look back at Clarke, an altar to primal nature untouched by man. The rich tones of green feel familiar and somewhat calming, but it’s effect lasts just for a brief moment.

"You can dispense with the farce, Mrs Griffin" He tells her with his creaky, but friendly voice. "I'm afraid your story made such a splash that even a hermit like myself was made aware, I like the hair though, a very sensible evolution of your previous persona."

Taken aback by being found out and even more by the man's blasè attitude Clarke finds herself at a loss for words. “You know.”

He nods with a good natured smile. “Yes, I've put two and two together in due time, I had an awful lot of it you know? But don't worry, I will of course hold up appearances with your companions if necessary. I'm guessing they are right outside the door listening in?”

“You shouldn't have access to any mass media in here.”

That makes the old man laugh and he finally puts the palette down, wiping his hands on a soft looking washcloth. “I suspect you are by now very well acquainted with how porous this kind of institutions can get with the right incentives, Mrs Griffin. There are still some admirers of mine out there and they... try to make my long stay a little more comfortable, that's all.”

"I can see that." She looks around the room to collect herself and press on. "So you know who I am, Mr Wallace, but you are still willing to meet. Why?”

“I don't see why not, my dear. Your deceit notwithstanding our conversations have been very stimulating in the past and I have to confess I'm dying to know how a convict like yourself is operating out in the open again. Seems like an interesting story."

"It's about Cage." She tries to push him off balance. 

He just nods. "Yes, I figured. I'm not of much relevance in anything else. What specifically?"

"We need to find him."

"And who are _we_ , Mrs Griffin?"

"The FBI. Like you said, they are outside I can tell you right now they will take all of this away from you. Art supplies, music, your commissary account... It's how they operate."

Dante’s mask has the slightest slip, enough to give her a glimpse of what’s underneath, but he adjusts quickly. "That would be... callous, but I'd make due I did it before.”

He may look resigned, but there’s still plenty of fight left in the old man, he’s just lived enough to know how to choose his battles wisely. He won’t be broken, but he may be reasoned with.

"I know. That's why I'm here, I think we can find a better way."

"I'm listening."

 

\- - -

 

The two FBI agents are sitting in an adjacent room listening in. A device no bigger than a bulky walkman is sitting on the table in front of them with two pairs of headphones feeding out of it to connect them to Clarke’s wire, the prison’s mute and grainy camera feed playing on a laptop beside it. When Anya's phone vibrates there is slight interference, it's not the most high tech solution, but it's getting the job done.

She turns the phone over to see what it is and rolls her eyes. Lincoln gives her a curious look, so she pushes it over to him with the text message still open.

_"Request update as soon as convenient."_

Not waiting for permission he picks it up and quickly writes out a response: _"Interrogation underway like planned, subject is talking but no new leads to report yet. Will follow up when relevant."_ Send.

Anya starts to mutter angrily. "Who the fuck does he thinks he is? We don't need a fucking babysitter, and for sure not a little weasel pencil pusher like him. It's all a fucking joke."

The Senate committee may have been moved by Lexa’s letter and voted for a tentative continuation of their task force, but Jaha wasn’t ready to bury the hatchet. Using the fact that their Agent In Charge was on medical he argued the need to insert somebody in a supervisory role until she could return, a condition the other Senators thought pretty reasonable.

"I'll handle him, just please don't start shit with the guy. All we have to do is keep our heads down and show that we know what we are doing, everything will get back to normal in no time."

The man chosen was of course one of Jaha’s cronies, an insufferable bureaucrat with a passion for expensive suits and quick promotions that took the word “micromanaging” to a whole new level. 

"No guarantees. I might just kill that Collins guy before this is all over."

 

\- - -

 

"I know and respect that you have moral convictions..."

Almost mockingly he starts reciting, “When every province of the world so teems with inhabitants that they can neither subsist where they are nor remove elsewhere, every region being equally crowded and over-peopled and when human craft and wickedness have reached their highest pitch the world will purge itself through floods, plagues and famines so that men, becoming few and contrite, may amend their lives and live with more convenience.”

"Machiavelli." Clarke supplies unfazed.

"Very good, you came prepared."

"Yes, I also read all your recent work and can see clearly that you are still very much holding to your tennents. I respect that, but you should know that your son has abandoned them."

He scoffs. "You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it."

"A group of his men have tried to over a federal building in Washington DC, they've killed dozens of both agents and civilian workers and died themselves when the FBI stepped in. That's not part of your creed Dante, you've always preached the need to defend oneself and one's property, but never to attack."

"That may be, but let's talk about you for a moment, Mrs Griffin: I'm wondering what kind of moral authority you are pretending to muster here, after all your dirty secrets were laid bare for the world to see... For all our flaws, my family is just trying to save some small part of our country from the coming Armageddon, you on the other hand have sold it out to the highest bidder. If Cage has had to change tactics it’s a sad statement about our society, but I don't see what that has to..."

"Cage has sold out too." She cuts him off harshly. She reaches inside her messenger bag with one hand and pulls out a thick file, holding it out for him. "You can take a look for yourself if you don't believe me, what you'll find in there is proof that he is working with Nia Queen.”

He reaches out hesitantly with his paint stained hands and takes the folder. 

“If you know about me, you know about her as well. I can guarantee you no part of our country will be saved if she has a say in it, all she wants is it’s destruction." Clarke presses on.

Dante looks between her and the papers, slowly leafing through them.

"That’s not what you wanted for you people." 

"I… I’ve learned long ago that the Man lies, Mrs Griffin. It's what he does best. They send you with these lies to put a wedge between me and my son hoping I would sell him out, but I'm not going to do that.”

"I think you know that's not what's happening here."

He lets go of the file, papers and photographs falling to the ground carelessly and turns his back to her. “Mount Weather won't fall because of some underhanded machinations like this." He says, but it sounds a bit desperate as he busies himself with the painting implements without really doing anything.

"I think you know that there is the truth and that's why you agreed to see me." She insists.

"Why are you doing this?" He attacks her, almost screaming in her face.

"We're talking about you now, Dante."

"Answer the question! Why are _you_ collaborating with the FBI?” His voice has simmered down, but he’s standing ramrod straight in front of her with a steely look in his eyes. “Why now?”

Unsure of the right words she looks past him towards the paintings. It’s a complicated question, a complicated answer she doesn’t really want to give, but she knows that deception won’t serve her now. Her mind goes to all the hard decisions she’s had to make since Nia entered her life, to all those she’s left lost and broken in her wake and… to Madi, Aden and her mother hiding out somewhere without knowing if and when they’ll ever be able to come back home.

"All I’m trying to do is pay my debts." She breaths.

There is a long pause of silence between them. Dante looks tired and weary.

Finally he opens his mouth again:

“There is a woman, a doctor."

 

\- - -

 

"So, who is this chick?"

With Griffin safely back at the safe house it’s just Anya and Lincoln in the black government issue SUV, flying down city roads with flashing lights. She is driving, with he’s consulting the sparse rundown they have on their target on a tablet.

"Lorelai Tsing, 42, MD. Specializes in cosmetic surgery. No criminal record. She operates a private clinic for the moderately rich out of Georgetown, a dozen employees and no serious complaints on record. Apparently she and Cage were at the same college around the same time, but we've found no indication that they actually know each other personally.”

Anya leans over and takes a good look at the picture of a prim and proper MD in a white lab coat. She doesn’t look the homegrown terrorist type, not one bit.

"Are we sure the old man isn't sending us on a wild goose chase?"

“Pretty sure.” Triss chimes in from the car’s speakers. "I was going through her financial records and apparently the good doc recently bought a giant supply of heavy duty anti-radiation meds through her clinic. All permits are in order so we wouldn't have caught it normally."

Anya groans loudly. "That’s just great. This thing gets worse at each turn."

“Uniforms spoke to her doorman, he says she’s left the building about an hour ago like per usual schedule, I’m sending you her work address.”

 

The clinic takes up an entire floor of a modern highrise, with a sleek white entrance area complete with vaguely zen inspired water fountains and generic commercials playing in loop in front and offices and medical suits taking up most of the back. Their dark suits stick out like a sore thumb against the waiting clientele mostly clad in in  muted but expensive leisurewear.

“Welcome to Harvest Medical, what can I do for you?”

A forcefully pleasant receptionist asks them behind a bamboo counter.

“Hi ma’am, I’m Agent Forrester, this is Agent Woods.” Lincoln gestures to Anya and shows off his badge without making a scene. “We have urgent need to speak to Dr.Tsing, is she in?”

“I can…” As the poor woman reaches for the phone on her desk Anya puts her hand over it.

“No thank you, we just need to know if she’s in.” Lincoln tells her calmly.

“I- No, she’s not arrived yet, what is this about?”

That’s when the elevators ding open on the far end of the room and Dr. Tsing looks up to them from her phone. It’s immediately clear she knows why they are here, lets her purse fall to the ground and starts to press buttons to close the doors again. 

"Lorelai Tsing, we need to talk." The doors close. “Stairs!” 

They run over to the side exit and down several flights of rarely used stairs, Anya taking the lead while Lincoln keeps up and calls for backup at the same time.Heavy footfalls on metal reverberate against the bare walls. “... suspect is fleeing on foot, two agents in pursuit….”

They reach the lobby just in time to see the woman bolt outside and they quickly chase after, shoving pedestrians out of their way as Tsing reaches the corner and disappears inside an alley. Gritting her teeth Anya makes the sharp turn and dives in, almost immediately shots ring out.

“Shots fired, I repeat, shots fired.” Lincoln yells into his radio.  “Anya you good?”

“Good!” 

The shots went in the plaster wide over her head, but she still pulls her own gun and fires back. Tsing seems frantic now as she runs and shoots behind her without really aiming. Lincoln reaches the corner and takes up position to cover his colleague, who presses on.

“Lorelai Tsing, stop! FBI!” 

They yell after her again, but she’s almost reached the end of the passage and doesn’t slow down. Her gun jams and she abandons it without even trying to remedy the situation and stumbles on, looking back at them in what looks like desperation.

“Stop!”

Distracted she runs right into traffic. One car hits her in the back, another tries it’s best to slow down with screeching brakes, but still crashes into her hard.

All Anya can do is kick a nearby trash can. “FUCK!”

 

\- - -

 

The after action meeting in Deputy Director Kane's office is tense to say the least. While they run through what happened Finn Collins is sitting quietly on a chair near the door and takes notes, but his opinion is pretty transparent. When Triss clicks over to the picture of the car accident scene he finally mutters, "I think it's safe to say this could have been handled better.”

“What is safe to say is that she was involved with the Mount Weather plan, whatever it is.” Anya affirms energetically trying to ignore his presence. “The gun was unregistered and even though she was fra from well trained somebody showed her the basics of it. We found a burner phone on her which had contact with just two other unregistered numbers..”

“The trace is ongoing, but they may have already disposed of them.” Triss inserts sheepishly.

“... and then there are these.”

Dozens and dozens of photos of Dr.Tsing and Cage Wallace found in her home, some in nature and some in more traditional date spots around town, but all painting a pretty clear picture of a long standing relationship between the two. It’s hard to tell if Cage’s smile is real or if he’s just using the doctor, but he at least played the role convincingly.

“Preliminary examination of her car tells us she visited the area of the Mount Weather compound at least half a dozen times and there are a few more orders for medical supplies that don’t fit with the clinic’s needs, mostly mundane stuff, we think she was the militia’s unofficial physician.” Lincoln explains laying out a series of invoices with highlighted items. 

Kane nods pensivelly. “And the radiation med?”

“Enough to cover a few dozen people for a few weeks if administered in the right way. It could be an indication of an imminent attack, a dirty bomb seems most likely.”

“Pretty circumstantial if you ask me.”

It takes all of Anya’s self control not to tell Collins that nobody asked him, every last drop, but instead she searches through the evidence bags on the table and puts the one she needs in front of the Deputy Director: An invite for an exclusive party at the Latvian consulate.

“We checked, there is no professional reason for her to be included on the guest list. According to internal Counterintelligence and the State Department reports events like this are often little more than cover for all kinds of black market activities, it could be how they were planning to get their hands on the radioactive material. Cage could even show up there himself if we are lucky.”

Kane nods. “What are you suggesting?”

“We send in a small team of undercover…”

"We can't touch the consulate Deputy Director,” Collins butts in again, “the last thing we need right now is an international incident. It looks like you have more than enough evidence to raid the bunker of these Militia nutjobs, put the screws on them and we’ll see if there even is a terrorist plot."

"They aren't there! Women and children, yes, but not most of the soldiers. _They,”_ Anya enphasizes the word heavily, “aren't stupid."

The compound has been under surveillance by local law enforcement ever since Clarke identified Emerson to them and the reports seem to indicate little activity there, but it doesn’t seem like their new external supervisor is interested.

“And crashing a public event on foreign soil in the hopes that something shakes loose is? Deputy Director please, after everything that’s happened you don’t have much political capital left in this matter, throwing it away like this could very well be career suicide.”

“People’s lives are at stake.”

“Maybe.”

Anya feels Lincoln’s hand on her arm, probably trying to prevent her from physically attacking the guy, but she doesn’t care and pushes right into his face. “Remind me exactly what’s your qualification?”

“You know very well the Intelligence Committee nominated me Special Investigator to this task force. To consult and supervise.” 

That’s mostly thanks to his blind loyalty to Jaha, in reality Finn Collins is little more than a Hill staffer with impressive family connections and a dream to run for office one day. 

“Did they also get you a toy gun to go with that bullshit title?” She spits back.

Before the altercation can get any more out of hand Kane shoots Anya an admonishing look and takes the word again, trying to thread the middle path: "Surveillance only."

Collins huffs, but nods. “ But at a distance, no internal shots of the building. There are trade negotiations going on concerning the Baltic Sea, in no circumstance can they be jeopardized for a shot in the dark.”

With a vague nod Kane turns to Lincoln. “Agent Forrester, start working on an action plan for the Militia compounds, I want to review it before day’s end. You’ll have all the personnel you need.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Thank you agents, Mr. Collins. That’s all for now.”

Knowing when to take his leave, Finn gives a curt nod and exits, almost certainly immediately running to his temporary office to call Senator Jaha and tell him everything.

“Deputy Director, a word?” Anya asks trying to sound respectful, but he shakes his head.

“Not now, Agent Woods. We’ll talk later.”

“Yes Sir.”

 

\- - -

 

"All you need to do is to turn the tracker for one night! I’m an international known rogue spy, practically their ideal client! In, out, you arrest everybody and get a promotion out of it. Kane will thank you."

They are all gathered in Clarke’s again to discuss their next steps, and enough to say that the blonde isn’t impressed by what’s been decided at the Hoover building. 

"No way. No way I let you out the cage while I’m not there to hold the leash." Anya bites back harshly.

"This is stupid and you know it. The Mountain Men have ex soldiers teaching them op sec, you won’t catch them red handed in their own fucking homes! Anybody involved in the plan will already have cleared out and you’ll just have wasted more time while they build a bomb!”

"Oh don’t I know it!””

It’s been going on for a while by now, with Lincoln and Triss standing by while the two women yell at each other although they are pretty much on the same page. The booze isn't helping either. 

“I told them very clearly to their face what I thought about their stupid fucking plan, that’s why they’ll keep a close eye on all of us now until we ship out to the sticks. Again!”

Suddenly Clarke turns and points to the rookie. “Even Triss?”

Anya scoffs. “I am not leaving you alone with Triss. No offence.” She adds, looking to her protegee.

“None taken.” She’s more than happy to dodge that bullet. 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Don’t you have somebody else you can ask? Some fed friend?”

“No!”

“There aren't that many left." Lincoln adds in a somber tone, making them pause for at least a moment, before Griffin can’t help herself and tries again.

“Blake Security then.”

“No - more - mercs!”

“How about me?”

All four of them turn to the apartment door, where Lexa’s stepped inside. She looks much better after a few weeks of recovery, still a bit pale and helping herself around with a crutch, but on her way to be her old self. Instead of her usual impeccable suit she’s wearing sweats and a dark hoodie that makes her look much younger.

“You are yelling way to loudly, good thing all other units are empty. Anyway, I can do it.”

“No!” Anya sneers at the same time as Clarke says. “Yes!”

“You just got on your feet.” Anya remind her sister.

“That’s not true, physio has been going very well. And I’m still on medical leave for a while, so no official assignments and no chance they’ll send me on the raid with you.”

“Because you’re a cripple!”

“Hey!” Lexa calls out, and for some reason so does Clarke.

Raising her hands in surrender Anya lets herself fall back on the couch and reaches for the bottle.

“This is the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

...

"What else is new?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you say, worst idea ever?
> 
> (And since I pulled something like this on you before, let me tell you: Dr.Tsing is defintely completely dead. No take backs.)


	14. Chapter 14

Triss feels just a little bit awkward as she's sitting in her bosses living room. Lexa herself is just around in the corner in her bedroom getting dressed, leaving her alone for the moment. The apartment is clean and functional, but pretty sparse of personal touches, a messy stack of books on the coffee table and some running shoes thrown in a corner being the only things that would look out of place in an IKEA show room. No clutter, no pictures. Even the three coffee mugs sitting on the table near her trusty laptop look pristine on their bamboo coasters.

"Is that jacket ok?" The Special Agent calls from the other room pulling her from her musings.

"Eh... Yes, should work out fine."

She busies herself with affixing the button camera she “borrowed” from the bureau to the lapel of the suit jacket Lexa laid out for her and checking the feed. It's already working fine, but she double checks everything nonetheless. What they are about to do is pretty risky and there isn't much of a safety net is something goes wrong, just the two of them and Nyko, who is walking up and down the balcony talking on his phone at the moment.

“The cam works, ear piece too. Both can be switched on and off from the wrist watch in case they'll check you with specialized equipment. I'll hear and see everything you do.”

“Good.”

Lexa walks back into the room in a pair of tailored slacks and a white dress shirt, holding out two ties and wiggling them at Triss. They both look expensive so she just points to one at random getting a nod in return.

Turning her back to her to look in the mirror while she does the knot she asks, “Where are you on Griffin's tag?”

“So technically it can't be turned off, it's always transmitting, but I have found a workaround. I've copied the data from a few days ago, hours of completely normal movement around the safe house and written a little program that will override her location with that every 30 seconds.”

As the bearded agent is coming back inside she adds, “If somebody takes a peak at the real time display it will probably look like a glitch, if they call the safe house detail Nyko is ready to cover for us on that front.”

"We've got you covered." He assures her.

Lexa looks over to the man. He's Lincoln's friend more than hers, they went through part of their military careers together before he came to the FBI and Nyko went the Marshal's route, but they've all worked together in the past and she knows him to be loyal to a fault.

“As long as you stay outside and play dumb, ok? If somebody for any reason orders you to do a visual check, you tell them Griffin isn't there and let the chips fall where they may. I don't want anybody risking their career for this.”

He just nods unconcerned and reaches for his mug with an easy swagger.

"I'm serious."

"Don't worry boss, we're solid. The guys on shift won't ask questions and if something goes down we'll weather it. Equipment malfunction happens all the time."

Knowing very well that pressing the issue further wouldn't get them anywhere Lexa slips her jacket on with a bit of help from Triss and reaches for the polished walking cane leaning near the door. She weighs it in her hand, then twists the handle pulling out a palm and a half long blade. It will be their only weapon on the field trip, a last resort.

At the other two agent's questioning looks she shrugs. “Anya got it for me, I don't know from where. I think it was originally supposed to be a joke."

Nyko drains the last of the coffee, puts his mug in the sink and reaches for his coat.

"Well, joke's on her. Lets go pick up your date."

 

They take the elevator down, Triss carrying her heavy equipment bag, and cross the street to the Marshal's car. As he starts it up and pulls out of the parking space a second vehicle turns on a bit farther down the street and maneuvers into the traffic after them.

Nobody notices.

 

\- - -

 

The Langley Five, like the news media called them after their information got leaked online. The five fatal victims of the Azgeda attack in 2014: Peter Colton, Zoe Monroe, Glen Dickson, Costia Green and Wells Jaha. There is a photograph attached to each name, but she doesn't linger on them, knowing their faces by heart after all this time. Five dead and twelve injured that day.

All worked the 6175 bombing in Boston, fifteen civilians dead, but only a minimal fraction of what could have been if the CIA hadn't intervened. She quickly flies over the declassified details of the operation until she reaches the part about the monstrous retaliation Nia planned for them:

An explosion in the external compound they were operating out of, later determined to have originated from a parcel bomb. First ambulance on scene drives up, paramedics step out and instead of helping the injured they start shooting to finish them off.

Cruel and excessive. Just the timely intervention of some nearby beat cops stops the carnage before every last one of them is dead. They aren't fast enough for Costia, though, who got shot five times in the back as she was trying to stop the bleeding on a colleague. They found them dead on on top of the other.

A second IED half around town goes off in the car of Wells Jaha, occupied by him and Raven Reyes at the time. He dies instantly, she looses a leg. Harper McIntyre gets shot by a sniper when she walks off her train but miraculously survives.

Fucking butchers.

The investigation starts immediately, all hands on deck. There were about a dozen officials of various stripes informed about both the location of the cover offices and the role they played in stopping the airport bombing. Each one was put under a microscope.

A phone found on one of the fake first responders reveals that they were using the CIA station's communication frequencies to track their locations, indicating somebody internal to the Agency had helped organize the attack. The process of elimination starts to pick up speed.

Financial inconsistencies point at Clarke Griffin, the Deputy Director of Operations.

Official credit on paper goes to Kane's outfit and Anya in particular, but in reality it's mostly Lexa that gets them there. At this point she's on leave without pay for the shit she pulled after Costia's death, but that doesn't stop her working the case obsessively from home without food or sleep. Her old home that is, not the empty cave she lives in now.

A number of unauthorized operations overseas that nobody at Langley can explain are finally enough to get them a warrant for an arrest. After Griffin's in cuffs even more grime comes to light: Payments to and from shady foreign actors. A possible connection to the arrest of three American spies in Russia's orbit. The disappearance and resale of arms shipments in the Middle East.

But they never get to what would have been an incredibly messy trial. She negotiates behind closed doors with the Justice Department and signs a confession in exchange of guarantees concerning her mainly daughter. Custody is given to the grandmother since the father isn't in the picture and every connection to Clarke Griffin is sealed away to give her a normal life.

The traitor is locked away and forgotten.

As Anya is reading over the files on her phone she asks herself again why Griffin would try to access them during the Post Office siege, everything in there should be known to her by heart. Names and some details have been hidden away for security reason's but there aren't enough black bars on the pages to hide anything significant really.

“Fifteen minutes out!” Somebody yells from the front of the van she's sharing with the FBI tactical team. It's been a bumpy ride up the mountain roads towards the Mount Weather bunker, but very much preferable to riding with Kane and Collins in the lead vehicle.

“Look alive, Woods.” The agent on her left grins, checking her shoulder while he checks his assault rifle. “It's about to go down.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waves him off. “Just mind where you point that thing.”

“That's what she said.”

They all break out in roaring laughter like twelve-year-olds.

“For god's sake, between you meat heads and the local hillbilly cops out there I'm not sure who I trust less. I can't believe they let you bozos even carry guns.”

For all their locker room shenanigans she knows the men and women around her to be competent and ready for just this kind of difficult raid, the kind of people they really could have used a few weeks ago, but the rivalry between investigators and shooters has to be kept going.

She's about to double down, when her phone beeps discreetly.

The message from her sister just reads, "We are a go."

Good luck Lex.

Putting the phone away for good she checks her own pistol and nods to herself.

“Let's just get this over with.”

“That's what she says.” The agent repeats under his breath again and pushes a magazine in.

 

\- - -

 

There is no way around it, so Lexa just quietly admits to herself that Griffin looks smoking hot in the dress they got her. The somewhat shiny material hugs her form perfectly and flows down around her legs just past the knee. Her hair is collected in a beautiful bun with a few curled locks framing her face and deep neckline. An understated but effective makeup make her look both angelic and yet somehow approachable.

She swallows hard and pushed the thought away. Aesthetics and moral fiber are two completely different, unrelated qualities. It doesn't change a thing.

What Clarke Griffin really look like is dangerous. Like the kind of woman you would tell more than you realize after a few glasses of wine. Like a professional manipulator at the top of her craft. Like a ruthless spy.

Yes, that's more like it.

Without acknowledging any of her thoughts out loud Lexa reaches to her inside pocket, takes out a small plastic box and offers the inside ear piece to the blonde.

"Ok. Ground rules, non negotiable.”

Clarke nods while putting the small receiver in place. “Let's hear them.”

“You'll never leave my sight. The tracker is still active, we are masking it for the duration, but Triss can access it at any time if necessary. Don't make it necessary. Tell me where you are going before you do, consult with me before an approach, keep in constant contact so there are no surprises.”

“Fine.”

“The mission is identifying Cage's contacts in place and what they were going to buy there. Nothing else. We don't have any jurisdiction in there so we can't act on anything we get on the spot, but we'll regroup and approach it on our terms later. No mess, ok?”

“Ok.”

This is going better than she thought.

“If anything goes wrong or I get a bad feeling we are pulling out. No back talking or improvisation. A lot of people are going out on a limb for us here, we are going to play it safe.”

"Sounds good. Now it's my turn." The blonde tells her matter-of-factually.

"What?"

"I have condition too.”

So much for everything going smoothly. Lexa resists the sudden urge to pinch the bridge of her nose and nods. “Ok fine.”

“Could you please leave us for a moment?" She asks Nyko and Triss.

They don't move and look to Lexa, who gives them their leave with a wave. After the door clicks closed the agent looks back to Clarke: "So?"

"Hey, I did that for you. I need to know how you are really and you sure as hell won't tell me while your people are standing around us." She puts the hands on her hips.

“What do you mean?”

She points down as if it was obvious. "The leg. How much movement do you have? Pain? Dizziness? You have to tell me if we are going to do this, no surprises as you said."

"I'm good."

"Fine, be like that." She huffs and steps closer, inside Lexa's personal space. The brunette is unsure how to react, when suddenly she feels the other woman push her thumb into her thigh making her wince in pain. Yeah, she's not that good.

"Can you walk without the cane?" She asks, lifting a eyebrow to warn against lying.

"Yes. The doctor doesn't want me too, but I can do it."

"Run?"

"A short burst, followed by scorching pain." She's tested that a few days ago. Anya wasn't happy about it when she found out, the doctor wasn't happy either, even Lincoln broke his usual ambivalent silence to tell her he wasn't happy about it, but Clarke just nods in understanding.

"Ok, so we'll keep that as a last resort. How do you see your chances in a fight?”

“As long as they won't kick me in the leg I can hold my own.”

They both know any fighter worth his salt will do exactly that as soon as they start throwing punches, but that can stay unsaid for now. The blonde seems satisfied with her survey and takes a moment to straighten her dress out again and pick up her clutch.

“Fine, we can go."

“That's it?”

“Yes. Oh and I hope it's fine if I get close, we're supposed to be a couple.”

Well that ship's definitely sailed, but still Lexa asks, “Why?”

“Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable, it can be useful."

 

When they step out to the hallway Nyko jerks to attention almost comically from where he was slouching against the wall and informs them that Triss is already on her way to the surveillance van they've set up a few streets over from the party. It's al loaner that won't be missed for a day or two.

He then accompanies them outside going over the last few details.

“Linc called, they are on the ground and about to move on your militia crazies That should give you some cover from scrutiny. Good luck.”

They cross the threshold and almost immediately Clarke puts a heel down wrong on the uneven paving of the lawn and stumbles. She flails her arms around wildly, but manages to hold on to a decorative potted tree before falling down, Lexa coming to her help on the other side almost immediately.

“Thanks Nyko, looks like we'll need it.” The agent comments dryly.

“Shut up, it's been a while.” Clarke mumbles and steps more carefully the rest of the way to the sidewalk where their ride is parked.

In a side street on the other side of the road two people are watching it happen from inside their car, one even has a camera with telephoto lens to zoom in closer. The driver pulls out a small radio and clicks it on.

“Visual confirmed. Agent Woods is with her, they are both leaving the safe house.”

A few moments of static, then a scratchy voice talks back.

“One, follow them to destination. Two, take the building.”

“Roger that. Going silent.”

 

\- - -

 

The sun is about to set when they pull up in front of the consulate. Lexa walks around the car like a true gentleman to open the door and holds out a hand for Clarke to step out. They leave the keys with the valet and ascent the marble stairs to the impressive main entrance.

“Exaggerate the leg.” The blonde whispers while she holds Lexa's arm.

“What?”

“You can't hide it, so you should lean into it. They will be surprised when you can move better than they thought.” She gives her a small smirk. “Plus it's a good conversation starter.”

Shaking her head the FBI agent keeps walking the same, but she realizes they are about to cross into Griffin's world now, made of lies and deception. It's almost comical how the risky circumstances and high stakes seems to be make her companion at ease, even revitalizing her after her long captivity. She hopes this isn't a mistake.

A friendly hostess awaits them in the foyer, ready to greet them and take their coats.

“Welcome to this evening's festivities, can I see you invite?”

“Of course.” Clarke takes the classy envelope out of her clutch and gives it over.

“Nice to see you, Miss... Tsing?” The woman scans for the name and a photo appears on her tablet, one that most definitely does not resemble either of them.

“That's right. Lorelai Tsing, plus one.” She gestures to Lexa unfazed.

“Could you wait here for just a moment?”

“Take your time.”

The hostess steps away an trough a side door, but it's pretty noticeably that she stops by the security guards nearby first, who immediately zero in on the two of them. They stay in place for now, but four pairs of cold eyes follow their every move.

“The muscle looks ex military. I don't have IDs on any of them, but they aren't in the official consulate registry so I guess that should tell you something.” Triss whispers in her ear only increasing her trepidation. 

Griffin must sense it, because she pats her reassuringly on the arm. “Relax, darling.”

Lexa nods trying to school her features, but it doesn't quite work so she leans in closer to adjust her collar and whispers: “We knew this would happen, I got it. Just try not to look so guilty ok? Rich people don't ever look guilty, they buy their way out of shit like this. Think rich. Filthy rich.”

Lexa hums in agreement and tries again to unclench her jaw.

“Dr.Tsing?”

“Yes!” Clarke coos and turns around with a smile.

A different woman is addressing them now, a tall blonde with hazel green eyes. Instead of the generic apparel of the staff she's wearing a deep green dress open on her back and walks with the confidence of somebody in charge. As soon as the video feed frames her, Triss starts to look her up.

“Nylah Harmon. Latvian citizen by way of her mother, father is American. They moved around all over during her childhood, speaks a boatload of languages, that's not useful now... Officially a registered private lobbyist, suspected grey market intermediary for a number of deals, no convictions on file though... And no history of arms trafficking.”

"Come with me." She gestured to a sideroom.

"What seems to be the problem?" Clarke asks innocently following her lead.

One guard comes in after them and closes the door, then crosses his arm in a way that lets him easily grab the gun that buldges out his cheap suit. Nylah doesn't pay him any mind and turns around the hostess's tablet to show them the picture.

“You are not Dr. Lorelai Tsing.” She tells them calmly.

Clarke laughs and lets a bit of that fake airheadedness drain from her face.

“No I'm not. I'm pretty sure you already know who I am, don't you?”

Their host makes a non committal sound. “And Dr. Tsing?”

“She won't be joining us. I didn't want her invite to go to waste so we used it.”

“Very sensible of you.” The woman puts down the device and a side table, still unaffected by the strange circumstances. “There was a rumor going around a few months ago about an attempted escape in the Washington area, I'm guessing it was more than a rumor then?”

It's Clarke's turn not to answer a question, just a shrug and half a smile.

“And your partner?” Nylah carries on.

“A very affluent friend looking for a chance to buy some party favors.”

Right on cue Lexa nods a silent greeting, but doesn't give up more details. Let them fill in the blanks on their own, Griffin had explained earlier, and it suits her just right to keep out of their verbal dance.

“Is that all? A professional relationship?” Her question has a suggestive undertone, a tint of personal interest maybe.

Clarke just shakes her head. “I'm not sure what you are getting at.”

Nylah watches them carefully for a few moments, then nods to herself.

“I hope you'll understand if I still have you both searched, it's a very selective guest list you are being added to.”

“If you think that's necessary.”

“I'm afraid I must insist.”

Lexa makes a show of raising her expensive looking wrist watch and looking at the time. “As long as it won't take too long.” Adjusting her cuff she clicks the small dial to turn off the feeds.

“Just a quick moment.”

At her wave the gorilla at the door steps closer and gives them a quick once over, surprisingly staying very hands off and mainly waving a small device around them. All the does physically is quickly pat down Lexa's waist and looks inside Clarke's purse.

“All good.” He grunts.

“Welcome to the Trading Post Miss Griffin and Miss...”

“Heda.”

She nods, taking mental note of the name. “Enjoy your evening.”

She pushes a separate set of doors open, giving way to a richly decorated ball room already filled with a small crowd and a chamber quartet. Inside expensive suits bordering on the garish rub shoulders with foreign military uniforms and the occasional high end sex worker it seems, the faint scents of cigar smoke and expensive liquor mixing in the air.

“Here we go.”

 

\- - -

 

Nyko is reading a beat up paperback with his feet up on the desk of an adjoining apartment unit when one of the many monitors they set up to surveil the safe house starts to beep with a new notification. A cursory look doesn't seem to show anything out of place, but he still grabs for his large radio.

“Hey Briggs, I've got something on the perimeter, can you go check?”

“It's probably just a faulty sensor again.” Comes the annoyed answer almost immediately.

“Still gotta check, dude.”

His next transmission is a series of low grumbles, but they've worked together enough to understand each other even without spelling everything out. Agent Briggs brushes the crumbs from his legs and exits the car in which he was dozing while pretending to keep an eye on the house.

He walks up slowly taking a look around. Nothing. Once he's on the yard and away from prying eyes he pulls out his torch and shines it into a few dark corners to make sure everything is kosher. A strange creak makes him reach for his gun, but after a few moments he decides it was just the wind moving through the tree branches and buttons the holster closed again.

“Briggs here, perimeter clear. Must have been a raccoon or something.”

“Thank you for your service.” One of the other agents mocks him on the radio.

Cursing under his breath he starts to walk back to his stale donuts.

 

A few moments of silence pass by, then a shadow creeps out from it's hiding place in the bushes. In dark clothing, gloves and wool hat the figure is almost completely invisible. After making sure to be alone he pushes his own high end throat microphone.

“Security detail on site, four men on shifts. Perimeter sensors and cameras inside. They've got her locked down tight, but the discipline is lax.”

“Did you plant the payload?” The boss asks in his ear.

“Yes, all done.”

“You can come home. Three will take over monitoring until they get back.”

“On my way.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I'm a horrible person and a mess. But here it is.

Lexa leans with her back against the bar taking a sip of her expensive whiskey and whispers: "Big guy near the column in the back. Military uniform."

The man in question is a somewhat rednosed officer boasting with wide hand motions about something to an unimpressed woman. She angles herself casually so that the button camera can capture him better. While the knot on his tie has been loosened and he’s well into his fifth glass of booze, two other soldiers nearby seem very much sober and intent on watching his back, a sign he could be somebody important.

"Got him. Just a sec." Triss acknowledges in her ear from the support van.

Clarke's sitting on a stool besides the FBI agent and pokes at the ice at the bottom of her cocktail glass with a straw, waiting. They've been at it for the better part of an hour now, picking suspicious looking guests one by one for facial recognition and trying to identify possible Azgeda contacts in the crowd. No luck yet. 

“Andris Garoza, Major.” The junior agent supplies after a few moments. “Accounted for in the consulate roster, has been stateside for the past seven months. Two counts of solicitation in his previous posting in Germany. No connection to anything more sinister from what I can see.”

The blonde groans loudly and lets her head hang in frustration.

“This is taking too fucking long, we need a new approach.”

Woods gives her a sideways look.  “I'm all ears if you have a better idea.”

The former CIA officer turns on her seat and takes a few moments to pensively watch over the comings and goings of the packed room. Diplomats, lobbyists and socialites of a dozen and more countries mingle in constantly changing constellations effectively hiding any backroom dealings going on, it's the very raison d'être of this kind of shindigs. Nobody can really keep track of it, except...

“One of those tablets the hostesses have would be good.”

Lexa hums her agreement casually adjusting a cuff link, slowly getting more at ease with her cover identity as a rich and powerful woman of mystery. “Agreed. How?”

The handful of of beautiful Eastern European women working at the entrances don't seem that intimidating to be honest, but they would probably immediately report any missing device to their superiors. Gotta go higher on the pecking order.

She watches as Niylah confidently strides through the ballroom like she’s in her element, greeting some guests and giving polite directions to others. One of the aforementioned hostesses approaches her with a question and she quickly sorts it out before sending her back on her way. Somebody like her won’t risk face and try to resolve things on her own at first. 

For a moment Clarke catches her eye and Niylah holds it for one, maybe two seconds. Then somebody steps in and she's pulled away again to resolve some other matter.

“Can you do jealous?”

“Hm?” Lexa frowns.

“Jealous girlfriend. Can you sell it?”

 

“Quite the operation you have going here.”

Niylah turns over to the voice and seems pleasantly surprised at finding Clarke Griffin with two champagne glasses at her side. She takes the one the blonde is holding out for her with a charming smile. 

“It’s impressive.”

The taller woman shrugs modestly “It's not really mine, to be honest, I just make sure everything keeps running smoothly for the real movers and shakers of the world.”

“Most important job there is, believe me, I know.” Clarke teases.

Ever the professional, the chief hostess gives one more cursory glance to the ballroom to make sure everything is in order, before letting herself indulge in the small talk. Once satisfied she takes a sip. “I was under the impression your business partner was holding your attention..”

“She's very... demanding, and it’s hard to say no to somebody that wields that kind of influence, but a lucky meeting with some of her other associates has freed me for a few minutes.” Clarke explains, then smirks. “Quite a bit longer, if they start talking politics.”

Almost unconsciously she looks over to Lexa, who’s mingling with a small group of people she’s never met before. She may strike quite the convincing figure from afar, but on comms the blonde can hear her stammer trying to remember details from some New Yorker article she's probably read recently to keep the conversation, and the farse going. It’s endearing  to see her try.

Resisting the urge to shake her head, she turns back to the hostess. “I hope I'm not keeping you from your duties.”

“Oh never,” She shoots back suggestively. “keeping our guests entertained is very much part of them.”

“Entertained, huh?” Clarke asks innocently and walks off to the nearest bar, looking for a somewhat secluded spot. The other woman follows close behind and Clarke knows right then she’s got her mark.

When Niylah waves one of the server's over and orders in Latvian she casually leans her thigh against hers. “I must say, it’s not everyday you meet a broker that can also identify disgraced intelligence officers by sight. Color me intrigued.”

“I like to cover my bases, besides, some faces make an impression…”

Smooth, Niylah. Very smooth.

“Still remarkable.” The fancy mixologist brings over two glasses and she gives him a thankful nod, “And even knowing, I’m not sure everybody would have handled it as gracefully as you.”

“We are not on American soil here, you aren’t the only one here with some dubious baggage on that front. It doesn’t bother me at all.”

“Mh, I can see that. It’s only too bad I’m here on a work related issue, I would love to go deeper on that. As you can imagine my situation isn’t very conducive to making new acquaintances. ”

Very casually the former spy leans a bit over to her conversation partner and puts a light hand on her bare back. Judging from how she mirrors her and moves closer too, it doesn’t seem unwelcome.

“Ah yes, too bad. Working for Miss…”

“Heda, yes. It’s nothing too permanent if it that’s what you are asking, but a girl has to eat…”

Reaching for her glass she “accidentally” gives Niylah a glimpse down her neckline with practiced ease, and while the woman seems to blank for a moment she throws a napkin over the tablet she’s laid down on the bar.

She doesn’t notice a thing and awkwardly clears her throat trying to get back to what she was saying. Not so smooth anymore. “I’m sure there are plenty of opportunities out there some somebody of your skills and experience…”

“Some, some even in your neck of the woods from what I hear, but first I have to pay off some open tabs. Freedom doesn’t come cheap. Once I’m free and clear I’ll decide where to next.”

“Sounds adventurous.”

“That’s me.” Clarke smirks. “Adventurous. What about you?”

“I was thinking...”

Lexa's heavy liquor glass clanks down on the marble countertop near Clarke and the other woman jerks away like she’s been burned. Deep green eyes look down coldly at her while she fumbles a quick greeting, but Woods just ignores her and signals for a refill. 

“Darling,” The blonde smiles serenely at her. ”I was just telling Niylah here how I would love to visit Latvia some time now that I’m able to travel again. It seems like a truly magical place from what she tells me.”

The hostess nods emphatically “It is. You should.”

She gives another spectacularly unimpressed look between the two. “I'm sure. We can look into that.  Miss, I don’t mean to be rude, but aren't you needed... somewhere else?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” She nods again rapidly and gets out of there as fast as her legs will carry her. 

They watch after the woman for a moment, then Clarke snorts. “Not bad, Woods. I knew you had it in you.”

The brunette shakes her head cringing a little. “Please don’t have me do that again.”

“You really shouldn’t sell yourself short, that was oscar-worthy.” 

“If you say so. Tablet?”

“Right here.” Pulling away the napkin she quickly accesses the guest list and holds it low to Lexa’s chest, where the camera sits. The brunette stands in a way to cover both Clarke and the device as the blonde scrolls through the names and pictures.

“Got it Triss?”

“Got it, boss. I’ll run everything.”

Clarke wipes her fingerprints off and empties her glass. “Good, it's time to dance then.”

“Griffin, I have a bum leg.” Exasperated she taps the cane down twice to underline her point.

“Then you'll be about as nimble as most of the men I see giving it a try out there. Come on, we need a quick alibi and nobody disturbs a dancing couple after a fight.”

Lexa hangs the cane up on her wrist and takes the hand she’s reaching out.

“I wasn’t that great before either, to be honest.”

“I’ll lead, you wuss.”

 

From the dancefloor the two watch as a very embarrassed Niylah sneaks over to the now empty bar to retrieve her things. Unable to hide a conniving grin, Clarke leans into Lexa’s shoulder a bit to hide it.

“A few more rounds just to be safe, then we’ll hit the buffet.”

She smiles. “How is it that all you talk about is food?”

That gets her an offended huff. “I’m going out on a limb here and guessing you haven’t ever been behind bars.”

When Lexa hesitates for a moment the blonde looks at her wide eyed and checks her shoulder. “What? Woods! Tell me everything right now!”

“It’s nothing.”

“Was it hard time? Did you have a prison nickname?” 

Before the questioning can escalate any further the brunette cuts her off her earpiece and whispers urgently. “In college. One night. It’s not important, was expunged. Let it go.”

The blonde laughs at the slight blush that’s coloring the stoic FBI agent’s cheeks. If anything could get her flustered, of course it’s questioning her stupid impeccable record. 

“Well, good to know you have lived a little before donning the suit.”

 

\- - -

 

Triss is trying to sift through all the names and photographs of the guest registry, when her cell phone starts ringing somewhere in all the mess she’s surrounded by. Surveillance is far from a glamorous experience, particularly in this old van. Without even trying to find it she taps her earpiece instead and connects to the call via bluetooth.

“Agent Thornton speaking.”

“Triss? It’s Anya.” There is a lot of wind and noise in the background and her other agent has to raise her voice to be heard over it. 

“Oh hi.” She greets, continuing to furious typing. ”How’s the countryside?”

“Smelly as usual. My sister still alive?”

“Uh, yes, they are dancing while I do some background stuff. All good.”

“Lexa is dancing, are you sure?”

Triss looks back to her other monitor with the video stream, where she’s shown a very close and suggestive picture of Clarke Griffin’s chest swaying in front of the lense.

“Pretty sure, yes.”

“I would pay good money to see that. Can you patch me through?”

“Of course, but… is this really the time?”

“I have intel from the field, dumbass.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. That makes sense.” 

“I sorely miss the days you when afraid of me, you know?.”

Suppressing a smile Triss presses a few keys on her board. “You are online.”

Lexa frowns hearing her sister’s voice.  “Anya?”

“Yeah it’s me, life from nowhere. Can you talk?”

“Go ahead. You have me and Griffin.”

“We’ve already put cuffs on a handful of people that were aboveground at our arrival, mostly non combatants, but they’ve closed the doors of the bunker and it looks like there will be a lengthy standoff. The local sheriff is trying to negotiate while the breach team looks for a way in.”

“Are they shooting?”

“Just potshots, looks like we were right, most of their forces have cleared out. We’ve also started taking some readings, radiation levels are inconclusive though. There are some spikes, but the eggheads think it could also be normal for people living in this kind of underground structures.”

“So basically we don’t know anything new.” Clarke summarizes.

“Yeah well, about what was expected from Collins stupid idea. Lincoln has been trying to talk to the ones we’ve arrested and they have referenced something they call the Day of Fire, a reckoning of some kind. Could be Nia’s attack or just some apocalyptic fantasy of theirs, I’m not sure.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Yeah, no shit. How’s it going on your front? 

“We are making progress.”

“So you don’t have nothing either, great.”

“Keep us posted, will you?”

“Roger that.” 

 

\- - - 

 

Lexa tries to mull over what Anya just said. If Nia and her Mount Weather allies really are planning a “Day of Fire” it’s imperative that they identify the target as soon as possible, but there really isn’t much to go on. She’s absentmindedly looking around when she catches Niylah watching them, but the woman embarrassedly turns away once she’s been caught.

Clarke doesn’t seem to notice. 

"How do you do that?" 

"What?"

"Just walk up to a woman and charm her, or seduce her, whatever you want to call it."

“Not just women, I can do it to dudes too.” She jokes lightheartedly, then shrugs when she understands that it’s a serious question. “It’s not that hard, she was clearly already interested, plus there are some techniques you can use to speed things along: Body language, psych stuff, the right amount of touch… the drink helps too.”

She hums, not really sure where she was going with the question anyway.

“But it's not real,” the blonde adds, “the real thing is infinitely more complicated."

"Yeah, I know _that_." She says with a sad half-smile. Relationships are hard work, as much as she clings to the happy memories of her time with Costia there have been plenty of times where they were at each other’s throat. It’s all worth it though.

“I was never really able to crack that trick to be honest. Playing pretend is more my speed.”

A question about Madi is on the tip of Lexa’s tongue, but her leg is starting to act up a little and she can’t hide a little wince it elicits, which Griffin immediately notices and slows them down before making a graceful exit towards some seating.

They walk silently for a moment, each with their private thoughts, then Clarke looks over to hera little less cocksure than usual.

"Listen…”

She plays with and empty flute of champagne sitting on the table they’ve occupied.

“We don't have had time to talk about this, and I know it’s not the right time, but... I wanted to say I'm sorry.” She sets the glass down away from her to stop fidgeting. “For everything. I’m under no illusion that anything I can say will really help, it’s just.”

Lexa takes a deep breath.

"I appreciate it, really, but I would prefer not to talk about it.” She doesn’t sound hostile, at least that’s her hope, but that’s really not where she wants this evening to go.

Clarke murmurs something that sounds like "Understandable."

 

"I've got something." Triss announces.

“Go.”

Thank good, the few moments of silence that followed their previous exchange had dragged on like an eternity. 

“Kyle Wick, Adjunct Environmental Engineer at the Nuclear Regulatory Commission. Non exactly your average socialite, and he’s registered with a fake name.”

“Sounds promising, but it's not like they would have uranium laying around at the NRC offices.” Clarke considers.

“I run his financials and they were a mess. House foreclosed, had to sell off the car, it looks to me like the signs of a serious gambling problem. Early last year everything clears up though. Went on a three week vacation to Barbados this summer.”

“So he's taking bribes.” Lexa asserts. “Can you trace from who?”

“Not on the fly, somebody is covering their tracks. And besides, he's not an inspector, so he shouldn't be able to influence much I think.”

“Information always has a market.”

Clarke and Lexa exchange a look. Looks like they have their man.

“Triss, give me a description.”

“Sending his pic to your phone now, boss.”

 

\- - -

 

Kyle Wick is a white male, with a lean build. He has light brown eyes, short dirty blonde hair and a stupid thin mustache. His suit isn’t cheap, but he’s clearly not used to wearing one and shifts around uncomfortably adjusting his sleeves and collar.

They carefully close in on him from two sides, but he just seems to be waiting around in a corner on his own.

“Mr.Wick? A word.”

He leers a bit when he turns to them and doesn’t even react right away to his real name being used. Instead he mumbles, “Yeah, maybe later honey, I’m waiting for somebody.”

“We know.”

That gets his attention. His eyes narrow, maybe also catching up on the name.

“I was expecting an Asian woman, and…” He pats himself down for his phone.

“We’re here. If you want your payment come with us.” Clarke points to a side door.

He nods and follows them to a connecting room where there is some privacy. After making sure they are alone he starts to say something, but Lexa pushes him harshly in a corner..

“Ever heard of high treason, Mr.Wick? Like the selling intelligence to foreign agents kind of treason? Because let me tell you, it comes with quite the hefty prison sentence.”

“Ah fuck.” He rubs the back of his head where it hit hard against the wall. 

“I’m not sure if you are aware of this, but it’s exactly what you are doing. Selling intelligence. To terrorists.

“What? Who are you? CIA? NSA?”

Lexa hesitates for a moment, but Clarke jumps in. “This isn’t a movie Kyle, we don’t answer that question on the streets. Just know we have the means of fucking your life up.”

“We are in an embassy, you can’t just..”

“It’s a consulate, dumbass, and we don’t care. I’m pretty sure you are planning to come out of here sooner or later, and even if not, all your stuff is out there. Including your money.”

He pulls his hands up in weak surrender.

“Fine, fine. What do you want?”

“Start by telling us what Azgeda wants from a pencil pusher like you.”

“Azgeda? Shit, I don’t have anything to do with them, I was just selling some pretty harmless stuff to a bunch of prepper nutjobs. Mount Weather Militia, you know? They think the world is going to end in nuclear war or something and pay good money for stuff from my office.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and shoves him again. “And it never occured to you that it’s strange that a prepper militia sets a meeting in such a fancy place?”

Lexa steps between them to get his attention. “Hey, focus. What did you sell them?”

Desperately looking around for a literal or figurative way out, the engineer stumbles over his words while he tries to reason with them. “I-I don’t know. Some maps, co-containment protocols. You have to help me. I want a deal. I tell you if you get me a deal.”

“What deal?” 

“You know, with the State Attorney or whatever. So I don’t go to prison.”

“Again with the TV stuff, Kyle. There are no sweetheart deals for stuff like this, believe me, I know.”

“But I didn’t know!”

Lexa is about to give him a piece of her mind when he startles at a beep from the phone in his breast pocket. He pulls it out slowly and checks the message with trembling hands.

“I… The buyers are here.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost lighthearted when compared to the rest of the fic, so enjoy that while it lasts.  
> I'm really starting to love the little asides with Triss for some reason, she's cool and deserves more screentime.  
> Like usual, let me know what you think :D No beta whatsoever


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I blew off a lot of real work to finish this one early!  
> I'm expecting this one to get a lot of comments, can't wait. :D

Wick holds out his phone. “Main ballroom. Now.”

The women exchange a look. They have to get the engineer out of there and somewhere he can tell his story, it’s their best chance to piece together what Nia’s next steps will be.

“What do I do?” He asks with very little color left in his face. 

“Stay back.” The blonde pushes him away from the doorway, so Lexa can open it up a sliver and observe their surroundings. Generally sleazy people are still enjoying their evening out there, but nobody jumps out to her as Azgeda or Mount Weather. 

If only it was that easy. Most of the names they can put to the two organizations are dead or in custody, others are too hot to show their faces out in the open. 

Clarke shuffles around behind her. “Anything?” 

She shakes her head and keeps scanning the crowd.

“The contact I was waiting for is an Asian woman in her late thirties.” Wick tries.

“It won’t be her, she’s dead.”

“What!?”

“We didn’t kill her Wick,” Lexa bites back annoyed, “she ran into traffic.” 

“...while you were chasing her.”

“Not helping Griffin. Not one bit.” With no idea who to look out for, she makes a decision. Appearing confident is key in this kind of situations. “Ok listen up: There’s a lot of important dignitaries in the room, they won’t try anything crass. You just stay close, we’ll walk out the door and to our car. Easy.”

When she doesn’t get an answer, she looks back to a very scared looking man.

“Wick?”

“Y-yes. Ok. Fine.”

“Triss, is the street entrance clear?”

“As far as I can see, boss. If you can make it to the car you should be fine it’s open road.”

If.

Following her lead they pile out of their temporary refuge and start to cross the cramped area towards the large double doors at the other end. It’s most definitely not how Lexa would have preferred to end the evening, but she tries to keep up while her hand itches for a weapon to hold. 

“You have to put me in witness protection. A new identity, the works.” Wick whispers to her while they push through a small gathering of diplomats, who thankfully pay little attention.

“We can do that, but for now just stay calm.”

A sideways look reassures her that Griffin is still covering their rear. So far so good.

“Fuck being calm, this is not what I signed up for.”

“You sold out,” she reminds him a bit more harshly, “but we can still salvage this if you work with us. Keep it together, man.”

“Maybe I can just talk to them. Make it clear that I…”

For a moment she feels the flash of a cold stare on them, but the crowd swallows the person back down before she can identify them. Shit. She grabs for Wick’s wrist and pulls him behind her. “Move!”

“I just wanted some money, not getting mixed up with all of this.”

His movements are clumsy, she can feel him bump into somebody, but she keeps going hoping they aren't making too much of a scene. She’s used at having to babysit pitiful witnesses and people of interest, but her partner clearly isn’t, because Griffin just huffs and shakes her head at the man’s whining. “Yeah well, karma’s a bitch dude.”

And that’s when his arm slips from her hand.

She turns to see what the hold up is and he’s looking back at her a bit puzzled.

“What now?” She asks impatiently. “Wick?”

He walks a few more steps, then stumbles against a table and falls to the ground. 

People definitely take notice now, some number turning towards them, or rather to the strange man on the ground. 

“Are you alright, sir?” Asks a gentleman with an eastern accent.

Somebody from the help kneels down and tries to help him up, but immediately pulls back in fear when the engineer looks up. His eyes are bulging out, face red and throat shaking like he can’t breath. THe only sound he manages to make is like a hollow and painful hiccup.

“He needs a doctor!”  An older woman cries. 

Clarke is suddenly very close behind Lexa. “We have to go Woods. Now!” She’s right of course, somehow they got to him and they will come for them next, but she can’t just flee empty handed. A small crowd has gathered around by now, servers and guests alike. She kneels down in front of Wick and undoes his tie.

“Are you alright, sir? Can you tell me what’s happening to you?” She asks him loudly like somebody trying to help would. “Call an ambulance.” She tells a bystander. 

Using the few moments she bought herself with her good Samaritan routine Lexa pats him down and finds something small in his inside pocket, a flash drive. 

She palms it and calls out again. “Is there a doctor?”

Somebody repeats her request, other fall in talking over each other. People move around, maybe to make room for medics or just security coming to take a look, but she takes the chance and steps back from the dying man while he’s still shaking and twitching on the floor. 

A hand reaches out for her, Clarke, and they push their way away from the scene.

The main doors are no longer viable, since armed guards from the foyer are using them to enter the ballroom and take stock, neither is the small room they were in before, too distant. They dart to the first door they see, no longer afraid to be noticed in all the chaos around them and push inside.

Running down the empty corridor they cross a wine red rope barrier and continue up some stairs. Only when they enter a random dark office and close the door behind them they feel safe enough to stop for a moment and catch their breath.

 

“What the hell happened?” Lexa asks when her heart rate is back in the double digits.

“It’s them. They must have injected him with something.”

“Are you sure?”

The blonde nods out of breath. “I saw one of their agents in the confusion. And she saw me. She’s gonna reload her weapon and try to take us out too.”

With a shudder she thinks back to the instant she found herself face to face with Echo before she slipped away. The Azgeda assassin looked surprised when she recognized her, didn’t know she would be there too probably, but almost immediately was back to her steely determination.

“What weapon?”

“Some kind of plunger with a needle probably, I didn’t see it. That’s the point.”

There is a sudden ruckus outside, heavy footfalls running by them and men speaking in Latvian.

They hold their breath until the noise dies down again, but it’s only temporary. They’ve left the area designated for the party and are inside the consulate proper now, with no justification whatsoever for their presence there. Lexa seems to be thinking the same thing:

“Guards are on alert, they are going to clear the area methodically soon and find us.”

“I know, but it’s better than being dead, don’t you think?” The blonde challenges her.

“Yes, but they will arrest us and find out who we are. Triss, can you get us out?”

“I’m pulling up floor plans now.”

“They will arrest us if they are following the rules, but it’s more than likely that they are on the payroll of the people downstairs. I wouldn’t count on this ending by the book, it’s more likely they just make the problem disappear.”

Lexa looks at her with an unreadable expression.

“We are the problem.”

“I got that Griffin. Thanks.” She snaps back in exasperation. 

“Got it.” Triss interrupts them. “There is an exit that’s reachable from what I think is your position, but I got to warn you, embassies and consulates are under no obligation to register alterations to the building with American authorities so these blueprints could be out of date.”

“That’s just perfect.”

“Walk us through it Triss.”

 

While the junior agent explains the route they have to take they hear steps coming closer again. No more running, but slow deliberate movements. Door opens, movement, door closes. More steps. Closer door opens. It’s not looking good.

Lexa twists the handle of her cane and pulls out the blade inside. 

“Ok, I hit the first one trough the door in the leg, we push him back on his friends, then we bolt. Left, left, stairs, right, left. If we can make it out into the streets they can’t harm us. If it comes to that Triss can take us in custody. Get closer and be ready for that.”

“Yes, boss.”

It’s a terrible plan, doubly so with her leg slowing them down in the escape. _Then we bolt?_ There is no chance in hell this is going to work.

Clarke watches the brunette take up position on the side of the door, turn the strangely shaped dagger in her hands and repeat under her breath. “Left, left, stairs, right, left.”

She knows it’s a hail mary, she’s just too stubborn to give up. 

The blonde taps her ear piece. “Triss, hold up on moving.”

Lexa gives her an irritated look. “Why?”

Outside the guards move closer, they are probably on the other side of the door by now, no time to explain. 

The brass door handle is being pushed down.

“Sorry Woods, your plan is shit.”

She crashes their lips together.

 

Clarke is suddenly everywhere in her personal space, kissing her with their bodies pressed flush together. Her sweet scented blonde hair curtaining her off from the outside world, while her hands guide the dagger cane back in its sheath and snake their way under under her jacket. Too dumbfounded to do anything about it Lexa just hears the subtle noise of a zipper being pulled open before the lights turn on and somebody pulls the other woman away.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Three giant men with pistols already in hand stand around them, it takes her a moment to even make out which one of them is talking.

“Take your hands off me!” Clarke squirms away from the one holding her, arms crossed to keep her partially undone dress in place, and runs to Lexa to hide behind her. “Leave us alone!”

Her pitch is high and almost comically outraged, a far cry from her usual demeanor. Her wits slowly coming back, the FBI agent catches on to what she’s trying to do and tries to get back into her own cover identity. 

“What is going on? Why the guns?” She demands, a bit out of breath while she fixes her rumpled suit.

“We ask the questions here!” One of the meatheads attacks her, probably the leader. “What were you doing in this area? It’s closed off.”

She gives them the most confident smirk she can muster. “I’m pretty sure you know what we were doing.”

Forcing herself not to break eye contact with the guy, she gets him to look away first, turning to one of his colleagues and barking some orders in their language. That one pulls out a small radio and steps out in the hallway.

“Can you zip me back up at least, darling?” Griffin coos.

“Yes of course.” While she does she engages the guards again, anything to get her focus back. “Will somebody tell me why you are treating us like common criminals? Is this what passes for hospitality in your country?”

“There’s been a disturbance on the main floor, Miss…”

“Heda. And we clearly aren’t on the main floor, are we?”

The security guard is at a loss for words, so she pushes it even more and repeats. “Are we?”

Thankfully (for him) the one in the hallway comes back and whispers something in his ear, giving him a comeback: “No we are not, but we can’t seem to find you on our guest list either.”

She scoffs and looks at the blonde. 

“That’s because we are Miss Harmon’s guests.”

“And you are?”

“Miss Griffin. You can ask her, you really should before you insult us any further.”

He watches them closely, trying to decide if they are telling the truth, but he’s clearly more at ease waving his sidearm around than interrogating people that could potentially have him fired. Finally he decides that it isn’t really worth his time and contacts the hostess on the radio.

“This is security post four for Miss Harmon. Priority transmission.”

“I’m listening.” Answers Niylah, who from the tone has her hands full at the moment.

“We have a Miss Griffin and Miss Heda here, found on the first floor outside the security zone  and not on the official invite list. They say they are your personal guests.”

The radio crackles for a moment.

“What were they doing?”

“We found them in… an intimate situation. There doesn’t seem anything else out of place.”

The pause is longer this time. Clarke is almost sorry for what she’s putting the poor woman through this evening. She just hopes she isn’t too petty.

“It’s fine, they are who they say.”

“What do you want us to do with them?”

“Escort them out, they are done for today.”

 

With only some cosmetic protests the two women follow the guards outside through a side door. One of the guards walks them up to their car and watches them climb in making sure they won’t “get lost” on the grounds, which suits them just fine. Lexa turns the key and still under his scrutiny slowly pulls out of the parking space.

“Do you think they got her?”

“Not likely, she’s good. Russian like Nia. Ex Spetsnaz.”

“Maybe she called it a night.”

“We don’t have that kind of luck, Woods.”

“What’s her name?”

“Echo Teles.”

“Never heard of her.”

“As far as I know she’s never been in the country, I guess Nia is bringing out the big guns for her endgame. To tie up all the loose ends.”

 

As soon as they cross the consulate entrance two cars with tinted windows start following them at some distance. They don’t even have to talk about it, Griffin just nods to the back and Lexa nods. It’s a mid size SUV and a town car, so the brunette speculates it could be about eight of ten people on their trail.

She reaches into the glovebox, retrieves a gun and puts it in her lap.

“That would have been useful earlier. Do you really want to get in another shootout?”

She shakes her head. “Not if I can help it.”

For a few minutes they drive with their shadows always closeby. They seem to be looking for a suitably secluded space to make their move, and Lexa is keeping on trafficked roads, but it’s late at night and she can’t keep it up forever.

Clarke watches her vigilant eyes dart around, searching for something specific.

After a while she gets impatient. “Care to tell me what we’re gonna do?”

“You mean like you did in there?”

“Oh grow up. I told you I was sorry, and…” The blonde starts to defend herself, but is cut off.

“Triss, I need you to call 9-1-1 from a non traceable line.”

“No problem, what do you want me to tell them?”

Suddenly Lexa accelerates and takes a left in a quiet street, the dark cars following closeby. Picking up speed she maneuvers around a row of parked cars and screeches to a halt near a sidewalk with a flower bed. 

She opens the car door and shoots three times in the loose dirt.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The shots ring out into the quiet night.

“Shots fired in a residential area.”

A few lights turn on in the nearby buildings. Some far away pedestrians look alarmed and start running away from the noise. A brave resident even opens up his windows and tries to make out what is going on. Without missing a beat the agent pulls out again and drives towards a more illuminated area.

“I made the call and looks like I’m not the only one. Three police cruisers are in the area, should be there quick.”

And just like magic they hear sirens in the distance and their followers slowly fall back, making themselves scarce. 

 

It’s not even five minutes later that they come to a halt, because police have cordoned off the area and are stopping all vehicles trying to leave it.

“Gotta love rich neighborhoods.” Clarke huffs.

“Triss, we have to go silent for a while. Confirm?”

“Confirmed, boss. Check in once you are clear.”

They pull out the earpieces and hide them away under Clarke’s seat together with the gun. When it’s their turn Lexa identifies herself as an off duty FBI agent, tells them her badge number and waits for confirmation as they check it out via radio.

She dutifully confirms to have heard the shots and seen at least one black vehicle driving off in the opposite direction at high speed, even gives them a partial plate number. The officers seem impressed and a bit in awe of having to deal with a federal agent.

“Might I ask what you were doing out in the area so late?” One asks almost timidly

“A date, office, and honestly it’s not going that well.” She nods towards her blonde companion, who gives them a small wave, pulling Lexa’s jacket tighter around herself shoulderless dress. 

“It’s cold.” She complains petulantly.

“Mh, of course, I’ll try to wrap up here. We might need your statement though.”

“Feel free to call me in the morning, officer. However I would prefer if you talked to me directly, I try not to mix my personal and professional life. I hope you understand.”

“I understand, agents Woods. I’ll try to keep you name out of it if possible.”

After taking a note of her direct number they thank them again profusely and wave their car trough. When they are moving again Clarke busts out laughing. 

“I’m definitely having a bad influence on you, Woods.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m pretty bad on my own.” It's supposed to be humorous, but there's a strange edge to her voice, something Clarke can't pinpoint.

 

They drive around for a while to make sure they are alone. Exhausted by the eventful evening and with that forced kiss hanging between them the car stays mostly quiet while orange street lamps whiz past them. Everything seems fine though, so they call Nyko to let him know they are on the way back to the safehouse.

When they stop the car the bearded Marshal meets them half way on the lawn.

“I’ve sent the boys for a quick break, everything’s fine here. How was your evening?” He tells them quietly, as if talking too loudly could wake the neighbors. 

“It was… something.” Lexa shrugs. “We almost made a mess of it, but if we are lucky there’s something useful on here.” She shows him the small flash drive. 

“What is it?”

“No idea to be honest, but they killed the messenger, so it’s all we have.”

Clarke in the meantime is slipping out of her heels, holding on to the trunk of the decorative potted tree for support. When she’s done Lexa notices she’s suddenly quite a bit shorter than her, unlike when she jumped her in that office, where they were evenly matched. Cursing silently, she shuts herself off from the train of thought before it can spin too much out of control.

“I sure hope it’s something good, ‘cause these things are torture, I tell you.” Clarke comments casually shaking the shoes. “Can’t wait to jump into bed.”

Nyko gestures for her to wait and makes a quick call on his cell, then nods.

“The tracker is back on it’s normal function, we are clear.”

“Excellent. Woods, Nyko, let’s do this again sometime. You know where to find me.”

They mumble their goodnights and go separate ways.

 

\- - -

 

The door closes behind Clarke and she takes a deep breath. First order of business is slipping out of the dress and into some sweats, then she retrieves the plastic envelope she found in the tree outside and opens it up carefully. Eight miniature pages printed on the front of each sheet of paper, eight more on the back. Ten sheets in all. An entire dossier.

Too amped up to need coffee she takes two whiskey glasses from the cupboard. One she fills one with amber liquid, the other with a little bit of water and puts it over the first page as a magnifying glass.

Time to go to work. 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% happy with this one, but the show must go on I guess.

The feminine form leaning over her is hazy, unfocused, but her hair is bright as sunshine. Lexa brushes her hand down her bare side and feels her spine arch in response, touching skin against skin. She melts into the warm embrace in a mix of peace and anticipation.

In a sudden change of pace she gasps as warm hands squeeze her thighs and she hears an incredibly close whisper, soft lips almost touching her ear.

“Come here, Woods.” 

And Lexa jerks awake. 

She stares at the white ceiling of her bedroom. What. The. Fuck.

“You are just touch starved, that’s all this is. Nothing more.” She says to the empty room.

That may very well be, but it’s not the first time she dreamt… that, and for some reason it doesn’t seem to stop. If Anya somehow gets wind of it she’ll never hear the end of it.

“Get it together, you fucking idiot.”

She shakes her head trying to erase the whole memory like an etch-a-sketch, then lifts herself up and starts her morning. Quick stop in the bathroom, pulls out workout clothes, fills up water bottle and out the door it goes. She’s still limited to a significantly lighter routine than usual, but her mobility is almost completely back, and she clearly has some excess energy to burn.

Being on the move again feels good, makes her breath easier and think clearer. She’s been thinking a lot recently, mainly about the entire Kyle Wick fiasco and the future of their investigation. They clearly have Nia’s scent, but one avenue after the other gets cut off by her shrewd maneuvering and ruthless agents, it’s time to get on the offensive again or her entire organization will disappear like a bunch of ghosts.

Once around the block, then shower, breakfast and a short drive to physiotherapy.

 

The bright white waiting room is nearly empty at the early hour and quiet enough that Lexa can hear the news program playing on the wall mounted monitors. A journalist in vaguely outdoorsy attire is talking against a woodland background dotted with tactical vehicles. FBI vehicles.

“The stand-off between law enforcement and a first amendment militia at Mount Weather is entering its eight day, in what can only be called a heavily armed waiting game. While there is no official word, sources close to the operation informed this reporter that permission for a tactical assault has been requested but repeatedly denied.”

A friendly receptionist calls her inside for her appointment, so she makes a mental note to call Anya later and get the rundown on what’s really going on.

Dr Jackson is pleasant enough, handsome in a non threatening way and very professional when it comes to personal contact. If that wasn’t enough a picture of him and his boyfriend on vacation sits prominently on his desk. She lets him run her through the usual series of exercises and answers all his questions about pain levels, until he seems satisfied and reaches for her file.

“Everything is looking fine, Agent Woods, I can tell you are putting a bit more stress on the injury than I would like, but it seems the leg is responding well to it at least. My recommendation is to take a few more days off, but you are strictly speaking ready to return on duty.”

She smiles trying not to seem overeager. “I’ll need that in writing please.”

“Of course.” While she towels off and takes a drink he walks around his desk and starts to fill the required forms on a laptop, “I work with a lot of federal agents, you should know that my opinion is only on the physical state of the injury, there are a few other steps you’ll have to before…”

She nods, this time a little bit too quickly. “I have the psych stuff all squared away already and an appointment at the range for eleven.” 

“Ok… Not your first rodeo then.” He comments with the slightest hint of good natured exasperation. “I would appreciate it if you at least tried to follow my recommendations for the next few weeks though.” 

“Don’t worry doc, I have a mountain of paperwork to sift through for my case before I get back to chasing bad guys in the field, so I won’t strain it right away. I just need the badge back.”

“That’s very reassuring.”

She snatches the print out he’s holding out and takes her leave.

 

_ \- - -  _

 

Shots ring out every few moments from the booths around her at the FBI shooting range.

With no hurry she opens her gun case and grips a brand new glock, the old one still entangled in the probably infinite investigation of the Post Office siege. She’s thoroughly cleaned it at home already, but this is her first time taking it for a spin. Or it would be if the small light at her right wouldn’t turn from green to red again, signaling that she isn’t cleared to fire. 

Somebody knocks on the glass behind her. A tall, bald man in a fed suit.

She pushes the door open. “What?”

He shows her a badge.

“Special Agent Titus, OPR.” Office of Professional Responsibility, the FBI’s version of Internal Affairs. No visit by these guys is every good news. “I was told I could find you here.” 

Lexa frowns. “By whom?”

“Central admin. I was hoping to ask you a few questions?”

“Right now?” She gestures towards the target already hanging behind her, but the man doesn’t seem to be in any hurry or aware of basic social cues. He just nods.

“You know how these things work, Agent Woods. The quicker we get it done, the better it will reflect on you and your reinstatement. That’s why you are here, isn’t it?”

Yes, reinstatement after medical leave. As far as she knows there should be no disciplinary component to it, but OPR can gum up any proceeding if they want to, so she goes along.

“Fine, but I have just half an hour booked, we can talk when I’m done. If you want to make sure I don’t escape out the bathroom window, you can keep watch.”

He finally seems to be getting the hint and steps outside the small enclosure, the green light returning soon after, but she feels his eyes on her as she cycles through a few dozen test shots, then puts up a new paper target and signals for the instructor that she’s ready to start the evaluation.

The intercom creaks: “Fire when ready.” 

 

It goes over without a hitch. Another piece of paper gets handed to her, the last one she needs, if Titus and OPR don’t put their fingers on the scale. 

Speak of the devil...

“Very impressive.” 

“Thank you. Can I ask what this is about?”

He takes out a small notebook a clicks a pen, making himself immediately insufferable in Lexa’s eyes. Then he quickly skims at few lines, before finally asking his first pointed question.

“Your office filed requests to consult very specific materials concerning an engineer’s work at the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, Kyle Wick. The paperwork was signed by Agent Thornton, but I’m pretty sure that was on your behalf, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suggested it, but she signed it since I’m currently not able to.”

“Kyle Wick died during a function at the Latvian consulate last week, I’m assuming this is concerning a Counterintelligence investigation?”

Again, she nods. “We had credible intel some persons of interest would be present at that  _ function _ and  wanted to surveil it, but got denied. As soon as I heard about the death I decided to look into it. I can’t tell you more without checking your clearance with my direct superior.”

“That’s fine. Just one problem, Special Agent Woods, your request was sent before the identity of the deceased was announced. Can you explain that please?”

If it wasn’t immediately clear by the very deliberate line of questioning he was following, it would be the barely there smug smile he gives her at this point, that tells Lexa something’s up. Instead of giving him the satisfaction though she clears her voice and stays completely professional.

“Announced yes, but he’d been identified by the coroner almost immediately at arrival. I have friends all over the bureau, somebody that knew my unit was interested in the matter got me a heads up.”

“Are you willing to name the agent that gave you this heads up?”

You wish. “Is this an official proceeding?”

“Not yet.” The implication being it could very well become one.

“Then I’ll keep their name out of it for the moment.”

Their back and forth lulls for a moment while he takes notes in his little black book, but it’s not over yet and soon enough he’s at it again.

“You were stopped by local police at the scene of a shooting that night, weren’t you?”

“Sorry, what night?” She asks innocently.

“The night Kyle Wick died.”

“Ah yes, wrong place at the wrong time, I guess.”

“Not that far from the consulate either. The police report doesn’t give much detail, but says you were on a date with an unnamed woman?”

“That’s right. Lots of free time on leave, I was trying to make good use of it.”

“I’m guessing you want to keep her name out of this too?”

She already checked, according to the official report the Latvians refused to give statements or to share security footage from inside the embassy, so there should be no way for the FBI to identify them. The dash cam of the police cruiser could have been on them briefly, but there is no way it has sufficient picture quality to recognize Griffin from it. 

“Yes, I don’t think she would appreciate being dragged into this. I don’t think there will be a second date either, to be honest. If you don’t mind me asking, what started this investigation?”

“Let’s say there are some concerns that reached our office, but since it’s no official proceeding yet I too am under no obligation to disclose details.” He jibes. 

“So that’s it then.”

He nods slowly, looking pensive. “For the moment, but SA Woods… I’ve read your file and asked around, the overwhelming consensus is that you are a very gifted agent with a brilliant career in front of you. A straight shot to Deputy Director according to some, and I have to agree with that assessment. Loyalty is important in most situations, but if you are involved in a murky operation that goes against your principles, my advice would be to disentangle yourself as soon as possible. I can help you.”

She takes a long look at the bald man. He seems sincere if misguided, she’s unsure how much he really knows, but it’s clear he thinks himself to be on the right side of this. That doesn’t make his poking around any less dangerous though. 

“I’m not sure what you mean by that, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

He hands her a business card.

“You do that, Agent Woods.”

 

\- - - 

 

“OPR?… fuck. You really can’t catch a break, can you?”

Anya seems overly cheerful on the phone, but Lexa can usually read her pretty well, it’s only to hide how tired and frustrated by her current detail she feels. Soon she’ll reach her limit and probably explode on some poor passerby, hopefully there will be no permanent damage.

“I don’t know, he just showed up and knew a lot. Definitely not a coincidence.”

Her sister grunts her acknowledgement. “First Collins, now this clown, somebody wants to do us in.” Like a bull in a china shop, but it’s not like Lexa hadn’t thought about it too. 

“It’s sure starting to look like it.”

“Jaha?” 

“That would be my best guess. The hearing didn’t go his way so he’s trying to get the task force disbanded in other ways. Did you get my email?”

“Yes. You got all that from the dead guy’s files?”

“Triss helped. It’s for Kane’s eyes only, if they are really trying to sabotage us I don’t want them to know our next moves.”

“Goes without saying. Don’t worry, Boy Wonder is too busy playing general Patton to care for real detective work. I’ll have him call you as soon as possible.”

“Thank you. And give Lincoln my best.”

“Will do. What are you up to now?”

“I have to swing by the hospital one more time, then home. I’ll order in.”

“Is something wrong with your paperwork?”

“No, it’s all done. I’m officially back on monday.”

There’s a pause, and for a moment she hopes Anya will let it go, but of course she doesn’t.

“Oh come on, still?”

“Goodnight Anya.” She hangs up. 

 

\- - -

 

“Good evening, Agent Woods. No cane?” A nurse in purple scrubs greets her when she steps into the mostly empty rehabilitation wing.

“Got my clean bill of health, Derek.” She smiles.

“Good for you. You can go right in, she’s in the last room on the left.”

“Thanks.”

 

She’s been in and out of here enough to know her way around by now, first for her own injury and then to visit. She crosses the bigger open area towards the short corridor in the back, where two guards are stationed, and stops before opening the door to just look through the inlaid window.

A still very pale, but comparatively healthy looking Ontari walks unsteadily between parallel bars, with another nurse shadowing her closely. After just five or six steps she starts to falter and has to support herself to stay up, but shakes the other woman’s hands off her when she tries to help. She stubbornly goes on for a few more, then falls to the ground.

Lexa pushes the door open and rushes to help.

They hoist her back up and help her to a bench nearby, only then the Azgeda agent seems to realize whose hands she has on her and swats her away.

“What do  _ you _ want?”

“Take a moment to get your strength back, that wasn’t bad.” The nurse tries to coax her.

“ _ That _ was shit.” She spits back, breathing a bit laboured. Then she nods to Lexa. “She’s the one that shot me, you know? Feels bad about it now I think, so she swings by to check in on me every other day. That’s what she says, but I think the real reason is to have herself a good laugh.”

Lexa gives the poor woman an apologetic look and quickly flashes her badge before she can get the wrong impression. She doesn’t seem alarmed tough, it’s probably not her first time having to wrangle a patient with a negative attitude. 

“Well, I’ll let you talk then. I’ll be back in a bit, you still owe me three laps.”

“Whatever.” Ontari rolls her eyes, then turns to the brunette. “I still don’t have anything to tell you.”

“You know, I really miss the days you were tall flirty and nice with me.”

That gets her a small snort.

“Yeah, don’t let it get to your head Woods, I was ordered to do that.”

As much as Ontari would like to present an intimidating and impenetrable front, Lexa’s been able to slowly make some headway into building a report with the double agent. She was present the very moment she came out of her coma, ushered out immediately by doctors of course, but she returned later to try and speak to her. They were both in horrible hospital gowns and hooked up to IVs.

It didn’t go well at first, but she persisted.

“I’m pretty sure you liked me a little bit.”

And persisted.

Almost a smile? “In your dreams.”  

Now they were talking at least. She was mostly getting abrasive answers with very little investigative use from her, but it was something and it could lead to more. Anya obviously wasn’t convinced.

“So won’t tell me anything about Azgeda.”

“No.”

“Or Nia.”

“No.”

“That’s fine, I was just checking. The real reason I’m here is to give you an update on my investigation. AnYou may already know some of this, and if you do please stop me, but I think Nia doesn’t share too much about the big picture with her pawns…”

Ontari stays silent, taking a sip from her water bottle instead.

“We tracked down somebody who was unwittingly selling information to her, somebody working with nuclear material.”

A flicker of her eyes, she’s got her attention.

“He didn’t think the stuff was too important, but I don’t think he was too smart to be honest. I tracked every file he copied and read them from top to bottom. She wanted transport schedules and dispersion maps, do you know what those are?”

She doesn’t wait for a response and explains.

“It’s simulations based on wind directions, landscape and so on. What would happen if there was a nuclear incident in this place, how would the radioactive cloud move? Stuff like that. The government runs a lot of those. Everywhere there are power plants, but also in major metropolitan areas and military targets… You see what I’m getting at?”

Ontari nods slowly.

“Transport schedules to get the stuff, maps to know where to hit.”

“Exactly.” Pause. “Look Ontari, you did some pretty fucked up stuff and it’s not like I can wash all that away, but even if you aren’t interested in that, what if she decides to attack DC? Do you really think she’ll get you out first? She’s already forgotten about you.”

“Probably, yes.”

“Then help me out here, give me something and I may be able to stop her.”

There is no spite left in her voice, she’s not hostile either. Just tired, it seems. “I won’t. You can stop coming by Woods, I won’t tell you anything.”

Lexa’s about to shake some sense into her, when her cell beeps with a new message. She looks to the device, it’s from Griffin. Well, it’s Nyko telling her Griffin wants to talk. Urgently.

“Who’s that? You already moved on to another woman?” Ontari tries weakly.

It’s not even that great of a joke, but for some reason she feels put on the spot.

She awkwardly clears her throat. “No. It’s work, I have to go.”

“Mh. Sure.”

“What?”

“You are acting fucking weird. Just get out of here and try not to get stabbed by this one.”

She should remind her that she wasn’t stabbed, that she won their fight quite brilliantly even, but that smart ass answer comes to her when she’s already in her car and driving towards the safe house. She’s really lost all of her game.

 

\- - -

 

She knocks on the door, and it’s pulled open before she’s even lowered her hand.

“You are here, good. Come in.” The blonde seems a bit jittery as she takes her arm and pulls her inside, through the small living room towards the back. They haven’t seen each other since the operation at the consulate, partly because of legitimate reasons and partly because Lexa is a fucking coward and didn’t feel like it.

It’s absurd, but there is this sneaking feeling she has, that if she’s not careful the former CIA agent will immediately be able to tell that she dreamt of her. Naked. 

Clarke doesn’t seem concerned with that in the least however, and guides her towards the bedroom. “In here.” 

“What’s this about, Griffin?”

“I have something.”

She clicks the light on and there is a full on conspiracy wall taking over most of the cramped room. Pages of yellow legal pad full of letters and numbers are taped in neat rows from left to right, some underlined or highlighted, others violently crossed out, then a thick layer of post it notes over that. Here and there she can even see things scribbled directly on the wall. A lot of connecting arrows. 

She looks back at her. “What’s all this stuff?”

“What we got in the last few months, those documents you gave me at the office, Ontari Scott’s cache.” She points at different parts of the collage. “Mostly it’s my personal file. You know, your investigation, the trial, everything.”

“How did you get that?”

“Doesn’t matter now. It’s a fucking mole, Woods.”

“What?”

“There is a mole. I mean, a second mole. Not me.” She clarifies.

“Or Ontari.”

“A third, whatever. This is the big one.”

Again Lexa looks at the mess of handwritten intelligence, without managing to make much sense of it. “Are you sure?”

The blonde seems hyper and bone tired at the same time, not exactly a reassuring picture to be honest. Impatient, she grabs the brunette’s shoulders and stares at her with those penetrating blue eyes. 

“Listen, I know I haven’t made it easy, I know you don’t trust me for shit, but look at me.” She enunciates again, slowly: “Nia has an agent deep inside the US government. I’m not sure who it is yet, but it’s very high up.”

In her years at the FBI she’s gotten pretty good at spotting a lie, and she looks at her for any sign of duplicity now, but there are none. She seems open and sincere like never before.

“Shit.”

“Yes. Shit.” She confirms nodding.

Contemplates the mess of info again Lexa pinches the bridge of her nose, feeling the start of a giant fucking headache. “So what do we do now?”

Clarke hesitates.

“I need you to get me in a room with Raven Reyes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up... the long awaited reunion with Raven?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> saddle up, 'cause this one is a monster

With still no news on permanent office space for them the Woods sisters are going down a corridor in a little used part of the Hoover building they've been temporarily assigned, one isolated enough and accessible trough a side entrance so the other agents won't see the eclectic group of people they sometimes work with. Today's lucky visitor is Raven Reyes, who strangely seems to be in an good enough mood. 

“I was surprised to get your call to be honest, aren't you all supposed to be reenacting Waco or some shit with those second amendment hippies?”

Anya shakes her head in resignation. “Oh, that farce is still ongoing. We got a day pass to run something else down, but I have to get back tomorrow.” 

They have the entire floor for themselves, with the occasional pile of old file boxes left there in deep storage as the only sign they are still in an FBI facility. Triss even joked Mulder's office and the X files must also be down there some place.

“And you are on your feet already, young Woods! I thought we could be twinsies for a while.”

Lexa gives her a smile, trying to look natural. “Just got the all clear from medical a few days ago.”

“It's in here." Anya gestures toward a meeting room with closed shades, pushes the door open and makes space for the spook to walk inside with her cane. 

“Yeah well, lucky you. I'm still waiting for the doctors…”

Sensing something's wrong on the faces of the other two women the Latina lets the sentence peter out and looks into the room, her eyes quickly falling on Clarke Griffin sitting on a table with a stack of manila folders in front of her. The blonde looks at her apologetically and gives her a small wave. “Hi.”

Raven turns abruptly around, expression completely changed. “Oh hell no.”

“It’s important Rae.” Clarke tries to reason weakly.

“Don’t you call me that." Raven spits back over her shoulder, "In fact don’t talk to me at all. I’m not doing this.”

To underscore her point she starts to leave, furiously gritting her teeth as she's moving slower than she would like. It gives Lexa just a few more precious moments to try and convince her.

“She’s right, Reyes. I'm really sorry for ambushing you, but it’s important and we need your help.”

"No! I don't work with her, I don’t talk with her. And you know that! If you insist on having her around, then get in touch with my secretary and make a request for whatever you need the formal way. I’ll be in touch in five to six business days or whatever.”

“Look... “ Lexa starts to coax apologetically, but is interrupted by the blonde whose come up to the threshold.

“There is at the very least a leak inside the intelligence community. Maybe worse.”

Raven stops, turns on her heels and looks at her former colleague with burning in her eyes.

“Says you, and that alone makes me seriously doubt it!”

“I can walk you through the full analysis right now, that’s why I’m here. You know I’m good at what this stuff, I wouldn't make it up.” She impatiently points towards the folders, but the brunette just scoffs and lifts her can menacingly.

“All I know is that you got all of those people killed! By lying!”

That makes Clarke raise her voice to match Raven's, quickly escalating the already fraught situation into a full on shouting match between the two. “And I’m not trying to deny that in any way! But I know for a fact you’ve sat across from fucking terrorists and kept your cool for the sake of the mission, and now you are behaving like a child!”

It looks like they seriously could come to blows so Lexa tries to step between them, but Raven pushes her firmly away and walks up slowly to the her former colleague. She gives her a long look, up and down, in disgust.

“Why would I listen to anything that comes out of your mouth ever again?”

“Oh for god’s sake, I’m trying to warn you about a massive fucking threat here, so get it together and shut up with the platitudes. You’ll know if I’m bullshitting, all you have to do is give me twenty minutes of your time.”

Lexa looks over at Anya, whose demeanor makes it very clear she's not going to lift a finger, so it's again up to her to assure: “It’s real, Reyes. Please.”

Raven takes a moment to look around the group. Lexa, but also Anya and the other two agents watching from inside the room. She may let her feelings get the best of her at times, but she didn't get this far by being stupid. If the entire FBI team is staking their reputation on this, there probably is at least some truth to it, it's just she really really doesn't want to.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Time to be an adult.

“Let me make this very clear up front, if I get the slightest stink from your story I’ll see to it personally that this circus gets shut down for good. You’ve made enough enemies upstairs, all they need is somebody to pull the trigger. And I will.”

Nobody responds and she takes that silence as acknowledgment. Internally grumbling, but keeping an ice cold exterior she walks inside, past the traitor and sits down.

“So let's hear this shit.”

 

They take a moment to settle in around the large wooden table, with Clarke and Raven as far from each other as possible and all the agents used as buffer between them. As a precaution they've swept the room for bugs twice, but they are so off the radar Triss had to work for an afternoon just to get the WiFi working, so they are probably on the safe side. 

Clarke clears her throat. “So, it started when I got access to my trial paperwork.”

Anya immediately arches an eyebrow. "And how did that happen exactly?"

The blonde waves her off, but surprisingly it's Raven that chimes in in a monotone to move the discussion along. (Lexa files that away for later.)

“There was no trial.”

“That's right.” She nods,  “After I was arrested they put me in holding for a few hours, then to interrogation. I thought I would grill me for everything I had, maybe even go to enhanced measures if they felt like it, but instead they put me in front of a lawyer from Justice that had already pulled together a deal.”

Lincoln crosses his arms. “Why would they do that?”

“At the time I thought they wanted to make the whole thing go away as soon as possible, with the least possible fuss. If I accepted the deal I would go directly to prison with no chance to speak publicly, there would be no appeal, everything would remain under wraps for decades." 

“Seems plausible.” Anya confirms, “The brass was nervous as hell.” 

“And honestly it suited me just fine. I signed the paperwork, confessed to my part, and got a few concessions in return here and there.”

“For your daughter.” Lexa specifies before she can stop herself.

“Yes.” Clarke confirms, “However after hearing a bunch of you bitch about my embezzling and stuff I started to mull it over and came to consider a very different idea.” She opens the first folder in front of her and lets the pertinent sheets of photocopied paper fall on the desk.

“What is it?” Raven asks, still unimpressed.

“The list of stuff I supposedly have done.”

“Supposedly.” The Latina repeats with some venom.

“Yes, supposedly, because there is a lot of shit on here that merits a closer look. Triss could you…”

At a few keystrokes from the young agent the list gets projected on the main monitor. Another click and a bunch of stuff gets highlighted, all those financial transactions that got used as evidence for her dealings with foreign powers. Clarke turns around on her seat and points at them.

“To start with, these ones are doctored.”

“No.” Anya protests right away. “There are pictures, signatures and other identifiers to prove them.” She turns to her sister. “Listen, I get giving her a chance to speak, but this is our investigation and I looked over it a thousand times, it’s solid. I confirmed everything I didn’t find personally with multiple sources, it's real. And she confessed to it.”

Lexa looks over at Clarke, but she clearly concurs with that assessment. 

The blonde lifts her hand in defense. “Technically I signed a blanket statement, so I didn't see each single point on there until recently, but I didn’t say I didn’t ever use those accounts, just that they have been played around with a bit.”

“So you are moving around money on your own and making payments to shady people all around the globe, but it’s all above board? Some of your pals there are on the terrorist watch lists, blondie.”

“What you have to understand is that nothing you do in our line of work is really above board, but that's what I'm saying, yes."

She looks around the room and the looks are dubious at best, so she turns to the only other person that's familiar with what she's describing, even if she's not her greatest fan right now. 

“Raven?”

Her former friend stays stone faced. "What are you trying to say?"

"Those are my operational funds." 

The Latina shakes her head. "It's true that operational funds are moved without oversight from command, for deniability mainly, but there are places where this stuff is all written down. It takes high clearance to access, but every account that's been assigned to you is registered there..."

"And I bet if you went and looked, you'd find that somebody changed those out so that the ones I was photographed using seem like a personal slush fund."

“That's what you called me here for? A fairy tale about being framed?”

It's Clarke's turn to raise her voice a bit. "Come on, if I had a few hundred K stashed in a Swiss bank I would have found a way to get them to Madi. You all kept an eye on them for years, you know they barely get by with my mom's earnings. Plus I did the other stuff, so why would I deny this? It's small potatoes."

Raven slowly taps the pen on the table and exhales, thinking.

Lexa looks at her. "Is is possible?" 

The CIA officer seems conflicted and doesn't answer right away. “Maybe.”

"What?"

Clarke springs in to explain: "To do something like this you would have to be very high up the totem pole. If she goes to check and it's true, the mole could get wind of it and disappear. But I think it's far more likely they would go after silencing everybody that might know about it."

Anya looks up. "Why?"

"Because there is some other moves on that list I didn't do. I'm pretty sure Nia stashed stuff on my indictment her other mole did, so it would look like the case solved completely. Then they went back to work in the shadows with nobody the wiser."

"And checking now would reveal our hand."

Both Raven and Clarke nod slightly, the blonde having worked it all out in the past few days and the brunette catching up quickly and already running possible scenarios in her head. 

Uncomfortable with all this cautious shit Anya shakes her head. "Is there _anything_ we can check about this story? Because it sounds pretty convenient to me."

Lexa isn't as well versed in the spy stuff as the others, but she's followed along up to this point, and something occurs to her. "What about the lawyer, he or she had to be in on it."

"Yes." Clarke searches quickly around in the paperwork until she finds what she's looking for. "The name is Rob Whitman. I remember he was middle aged, white, short brown hair. Frankly not very memorable."

Triss searches for him online, but it takes a few moments longer than usual to get a result. Finally she comes up with a newspaper article, then the corresponding police report quickly after. "He died six weeks after your arrest. Car accident. Hit and run. No autopsy. No conviction."

A long moment of silence falls on the room as the story starts to seem more plausible.

Finally Raven pinches the bridge of her nose. "Fine. Run me trough it from the beginning."

 

\- - -

 

** 2014 **

 

It's a day like many others. Clarke's finished working at the office, so she's gone home to work some more there, at least until her mother brings Madi back for dinner. They've just landed a major blow to Azgeda a few months before, it's time to press even further and dismantle them once and for all. When she gets into the zone like that time literally flies by, it's just the cellphone ringing from her purse that eventually breaks her focus and makes her look towards the clock. It's getting late. 

She picks up the call. 

"Miss Griffin? This is officer Langstone, Metropolitan Police."

"Yes?"

"I have here an Abigail Griffin in custody, and there is a minor also. I'm given to understand you are her legal guardian?"

"Yes.” She answers a bit confused, “In custody? What happened?"

"Your mother was driving under the influence. Heavily. It's reckless endangerment with a child inside the vehicle, this could very well be a serious offense."

“My mother doesn't drink. Ever.”

“That's your opinion I guess. I'm the officer on scene and I'm telling you she's been drinking. My partner is looking trough the car, should we find an open container, or say an unregistered firearm even that would be even worse of course. Social services usually wants to speak with the family before returning involved children to a possibly harmful environment, but at this hour it will probably have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Wait, what? My mother is a respected surgeon and I'm a federal employee, none of what you are saying makes any sense. Tell me where you are and I'll come solve this right now.” She insists, starting to urgently gather her things with one hand.

“No.”

“What?” She asks warily.

“I'm not telling you where we are.”

“You can't! Give me your badge number right now!”

“I have a badge, but also a gun. I can do whatever I want, you understand? Whatever I want.”

“W-what..” She stammers, finally catching on to what is happening. “What do you want?”

“You have exactly one hour to get me the internal communication frequencies currently in use for your unit. Try anything else and I'll make sure your daughter gets lost in the system, it happens more than you think. Have I made myself understood?”

“Y-yes.” Everything around her starts to spin as she listens to the rest of the instructions.

\- - -

She gets back to her car, closes the door and taps out the number with trembling fingers. A voice answers after just one ring. “So do you have what we need? It's almost time.” 

It's not officer Langstone, but it doesn't matter at this point.

“Yes, the CIA internal communication frequencies are 756-23 and 901-78.”

“When are they going to change them?”

“They'll be in use for the next two weeks at least.”

“Perfect. Well, you better go to work on covering your ass then. Are you going to be exposed?”

Why is that a concern? Do they have long term plans? “I'll manage.”

“Just keep your mouth shut and you'll be fine.” The noises on the other end seem to indicate the conversation is over, but Clarke butts in urgently.

“Wait! What about my mother?” 

She can almost hear the sadistic little smirk in his voice. “We'll let her off with a warning just this once, but if the frequencies change before their time we'll have to revisit this. With interests.”

Click.

\- - -

It's not even twenty four hours later. All she had time to do is contact the family lawyer and make an appointment, but the nice older man her mother employs for her real estate need wouldn't have been able to help her anyway with this mess. Now all that is forgotten, nothing matters anymore.

She has the TV on silent in the kitchen and observes the destruction she caused. Police cars, ambulances, white sheets over lifeless bodies. She feels sick to her stomach as she watches the news anchor speak with no voice. Suddenly she has to rush to the sink, holding herself up against it.

“Mommy?” Madi calls out from the other room. A short moment passes. “Mommy? Mommy!”

She wants to answer, but the dry heaving isn't stopping. Wells is dead. Monroe and Costia are dead. Everybody is fucking dead. She hears small steps running closer.

“Mommy! I want juice!” Coming to a sudden stop the little girl looks at her with knitted brow. 

"Are you sick mommy?" 

She coughs a few times until she manages to stammer a few words. "Everything is fine, sweety."

She feels her little girl hug her legs, while she holds on the kitchen counter for dear life. Everybody is fucking dead and they will come for her next.

\- - -

She's had everybody's eyes on her since she walked into Langley's main building. Every single officer knows who she is, knows what happened, and they are whispering behind her back. It doesn't matter right now, all that matters is getting trough this.

She checks office after office until she finds one that's empty and slips inside. Her credentials give her access to one of the computers and she quickly navigates trough the complicated mainframe to the files she's searching for. Entrance logs for their annex. Erase. Search queries made from their annex to the main server. Erase. Communication logs. She quickly reads trough the last few, but doesn't see anything that looks helpful. Her finger hovers over the erase button.

She's covering her tracks, but also tampering with evidence that could be vital to finding those responsible for the deaths of her team. 

Somebody comes in the room and clicks the lights on, in a panic she erases everything, logs out and gathers her things. It's just an intern, who seems as startled as her.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know there was somebody in here.”

“I was done.” She shoots back while rushing out.

\- - -

It's been days and she's been feeling awful, everybody knows and nobody blames her. Not even for not visiting her surviving colleagues at the hospital, not visiting Raven. Not for being useless as a mother either. Everybody is so fucking nice to her, it's maddening.

She has thick dark rings under her eyes when she drags herself finally out of bed. She's put if off for so long it's dark outside, evening probably, but she's decided she has had enough. She can't keep the secret anymore. She's going to tell everything and face the consequences.

That's when she hears noise from downstairs.

Clarke takes a cautious look from the top of the stairs, then quickly rushes down as soon as she makes out the form of her brother dragging himself inside from the street. "Oh my god Aden, what happened?"

"It's nothing, just embarrassing really. I got mugged on my way here.”

The side of his face is a horrible splotch of blue and black, with a matching bloodshot eye. His lip is also split and mangled, dirtying up his chin with more red. He tries his best to grin, but it looks unsettling.

“The joke's really on them, I'm completely broke. I think all they got was my metro card.”

She helps him out of his leather jacket and pushes him lightly down the hall. "Go cleaned up before Madi comes back, I don't want her to see you like this.”

He just nods and staggers away, while she grabs her phone to call somebody. Her mom maybe? She hasn't thought so far ahead yet, but there is a notification for a new message so she opens it.

“Good to see you out of bed, are you feeling better?” He calls over from the bathroom.

It's a picture of Aden's driver's license. And a grinning emoji with a finger in front of his lips. She lets the phone fall to the ground and starts to shake violently. Aden comes running up hearing a loud thud and finds her on her knees on the edge of a violent panic attack.

"Clarke, what's going on?"

"I-I... I need you to call up that thug friend of yours.” She stutters almost incoherently. “I need you to get a gun. Now!"

"What? You are making no sense."

“No, listen! I need you to do as I tell you and not ask questions! I'll explain later.”

\- - -

“As I live and breath, Clarke Griffin.” The man greets her mockingly when she accosts him at an empty subway stop. “I never thought I'd see the day. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I have some work that seems right up you alley, Murphy.”

“I will never work in intelligence again. That's a direct quote. From you.” He reminds her, while finishing his cigarette and stomping it out on the floor. “I get you have some openings now, but you'll have to woo me a bit harder if you want me back on Uncle Sam's payroll.”

“This is not official work. Not even unofficial. It's for me.”

He shakes his head. “Sounds like shit work then, if you ask me. No thank you.” 

She takes out two rolls of hundred dollar bills and slaps them in his hand. “No negotiations, this is all I have. I need somebody found and interrogated. In the city. No boundaries on methods.”

“Jeeesus.” He laughs, but takes the money and makes it disappear into his jacket. “What's gotten into you? That not how you usually roll.” 

“Special circumstances. It's a police officer, he did a traffic stop on Reservoir and 34th last Monday around 6. It was a gray Civic. Check cameras to identify him, the name he gave me is Langstone, but it's probably fake. I need to know who he reports to. Not just an affiliation, the exact person who gives him orders. And I need it fast.”

He finally gives her a serious look, than nods. “I'll see what I can do. No guarantees.”

\- - -

After pulling every counter surveillance trick she knows Clarke slips into the small Albanian establishment and takes a corner booth. When the server comes over she tells him she's waiting for a friend and slips two fifty dollar bills in his hand. Quickly after that the owner comes out of the back and joins her.

“So this is real”? He asks, in heavily accented English.

She just nods and puts a USB drive on the tabletop. "Every ongoing federal investigation in your outfit, but no names." 

The shaggy man snatches up the small device. "I'll throw in some more cash for that."

"Not interested.” She responds coldly.

“Suit yourself, lady.” From his apron he takes out a thick envelope and gives it over. “Everything you asked for, with legit chips and ID numbers. Just add the photos.”

Checks the content, a thick stack of passports and other counterfeit papers, and walks away.

"Pleasure to do business with you." The gangster calls after her.

\- - -

Her phone chimes in the middle of the night, she shoots up from her bed and searches around in the dark until she finds it. Another message, unknown number.

“No dice on your police friend. Found him, but wasn't inclined to talk, had to send him to a farm upstate. I knew this was a shit job, don't call me.”

Fuck.

\- - -

She and Aden are hidden away in a far corner of her nice suburban garden, hidden from the view of the windows. She rummages in her purse and pulls out a thick envelope and gives it to him.

“You can't use anybody we know. Nobody from your old unit. Don't contact the Blakes either, they'll be under surveillance as soon as they connect everything to me.”

“I've got a buddy in...” 

She holds up a hand. "Don't tell me. You keep mom in the dark for a month or two when it happens, until everybody is satisfied that you reacted normally. Then you drive them somewhere far from everything, along a highway or something and fill her in. You keep that phone charged at all times. And the gun loaded." She seems almost detached while she runs him trough the instructions. 

He nods along, but stays silent.

"The best thing is to pretend everything is normal, live your life. But if it rings, no matter if you recognize the number or not, if the call connects or not, you just go. You disappear completely."

"Clarke, we could go now.” He tries again, “We have the papers, some money, there are places..."

"No,” She shakes her head slowly, “They would come after us, it's better this way. I know it's a lot to ask, but can I count on you?"

He gives her the best smile he can muster. "I got you."

 

\- - -

 

** PRESENT DAY **

 

Even if the entire wing is deserted, the bathroom must get cleaned regularly, she thinks. Strange what pops into your head when you're desperately trying not to think about other stuff. Clarke splashes some water on her face, still a bit unsettled after running trough all of that again. She'd gotten pretty good at keeping it all in a small buried box in the back of her head...

The door opens and she sees it's Lexa from the corner of her eyes. She'd been completely silent for most of her story, staring at the floor.

“Hey Woods, I…” She clears her throat, “Can I have a minute?”

It seems like a reasonable request, considering the new and respectful relationship they seem to have arrived to after all the adventures and mutual life saving, but the FBI agent just ignores it.

“Why the fuck did you do it?” She growls.

“What?”

"Why - the - fuck did you pretend to be a traitor for all of this time?” She repeats, clearly furious.

Startled and unsure of what's going on Clarke answer in the same tone. “I am. I did it! ”

“Barely! Under duress! They just needed you as a patsy, they would have done the same thing without you!”

“So what?” She shoots back slowly getting worked up over this unwarranted assault. 

“You could have gotten out of it if you came forward! You could have explained what happened, fought your way clear of it instead of giving up and going to jail in silence.”

"Maybe, but I had to think about my daughter!”

"Who's now growing up without you!"

That does it. Clarke sees red.

"Who the hell do you think you are to talk to me like that? This isn't the junior leagues, I broke under pressure and people are dead because of it. It's treason if you like it or not! I did what I had to and then paid the price for it, that's how it works in the real world!"

Lexa stares back at her with a wild look in her deep green eyes. She doesn't seem to know how to respond, but that doesn't stop her from taking more menacing pace toward Clarke.

“Why the hell are you so mad about it?” The blonde yells.

“I…” Lexa makes a fist, looks to her left, “I...” Then she punches the door with all she has and storms out, leaving a very confused Clarke to look after her.

 

Yes, why the hell is she so mad about it? Why the hell does she even care? There's blood pumping in her temples, it feels almost deafening as she grits her teeth and keeps walking along the empty halls. What – the – hell?

She pushes open the first emergency exit she can find, climbs a few steps to the meager lawn outside and sits against the outer wall. At least there is some fresh air. What are you doing Lexa? She takes a deep breath and tries to understand what's happening. Why does it even matter that much how exactly it all happened?

She grabs a handful of grass and rips it out.

It matters because it stands everything she thought she knew on it's head. It brings new chaos into the sad, but orderly peace she had found after all these years. It's just not right! It's not right! It's not right! She lets her head fall into her hands and pushes against her temples until it hurts.

It's not right!

The only thing that saves her from sliding even further into this confusion is her phone ringing.

She considers just letting I go to voicemail, particularly if it is any of the people currently still in the meeting room downstairs, but it's not. It's Nyko. She picks up, just doing a little groan instead of her usual greeting, but the marshal doesn't even notice.

“Woods, the detail you put together for the hospital was attacked. Officer down.”

Lexa jumps up, suddenly alert. “What? When?”

“I just got the call, it's going wide now."

"I'm on my way.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I normally go trough every chapter a few times to revision the rhythm and phrasing a few times, but this time I really wasn't in the mood. I had to write a lot of stuff for work and school recently and I'm a little burned out about sitting at a keyboard tbh, additionally it turns out that even though I've been thinking about this chapter since the beginning it still took a lot to put it to paper even in rough draft.
> 
> I hope you still enjoy it even though it's a bit less polished than usual, I just didn't want you to wait any longer since it's an important one.
> 
> (Oh, and sorry for the emotional turmoil :P)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I'm late again. But I too am suffering like you are, because Rainbow Haven Acres hasn't updated in more than ten days now, so at least we are all on the same boat here...  
> Enjoy ;)

Dressed in a nondescript hoodie and with a large bouquet of flowers to hide her face Echo walks right inside the hospital without rising any eyebrows from the sparse security. She crosses the open space of the hall, takes an elevator to a suitably empty floor and throws her prop in a trash can after she's retrieved the ice pick hidden inside.

According to her information the target is housed in a secure room and guarded by a small detail of federal agents, but she's pretty confident they won't be the insurmountable obstacle they might think themselves to be. Knowing their procedures all she needs to do is take a look around the general vicinity of the special wing until she clocks a burly man in civilian clothing with a clear earpiece hanging from his collar and follow him. Unsurprisingly he's going for the vending machines.

“Excuse me Sir, could you help me with something? I was looking for my friend's room...”

As soon as she has him around a corner the blade slides in the side of his throat, then again under his armpit and the giant goes down without much noise. He's wearing a t-shirt and a hoodie, both dark, so the blood will soak them for a while before it becomes noticeable. She sits him up on a chair, arranges the hood to cover up the neck wound, then she takes his radio, his gun and leaves.

Easy.

  
  


“Agent down! I repeat, agent down! Lone male suspect is in the east stairwell going up.”

The Marshals stationed in front of Ontari's room jump to action, reaching for their own radios to ask for more details. Three of them peel off, two in pursuit and one in the opposite direction to secure the fire escape in case there is more than one attacker. When Echo walks up in some scrubs she's stolen from a nurses' station there is only one left on the door.

The man waves her off from afar. “This will have to wait, no visitors right now.”

“I'm not a visitor.” She points to the small cart she's pushing in front of her and keeps going. “The doctor sent me to take a blood sample. I'll be quick.”

“Come on lady, you heard me.” He grumbles. “Scram!”

“I'm trying to do my job here, just like you are.”

“Oh for god's sake, show me some id.” He reasons, then pushes a button on his transmitter. “Somebody please get me a doctor on the line, I need confirmation on something.”

She pretends to reach for her fake hospital badge, but just creeps a little bit closer to bring him into range and lurches forward to stab him in quick succession where she knows the vest won't protect. It's not pretty this time, blood spurting around on the linoleum and her clothing, but she hasn't much time. Pulling a gun she enters the room.

The window is opened slightly, but they are on the fourth floor and there is no ledge so it's not a concern. The bathroom door is open, she checks quickly and there's nobody inside. Just the single bed is left, surrounded by blue curtains for privacy. Impatiently she crosses the distance and pulls it back.

Empty.

There is a pained grunt behind her as Ontari pushes a heavy IV stand over in her direction. The metal swings down and hits her hard in the right shoulder, the gun slipping from her grasp. Before she has a moment to regroup the CIA mole attacks her again, this time kicking a chair in her direction, but without the element of surprise it's not very effective. The girl is pale and clearly still in a weakened state. Good, this will be easy.

“Time to go.” She tells her coldly and pulls her blade.

To her credit she lifts her hands in a futile defensive stance. “Bring it, bitch.”

Ontari stumbles away from the first swing, and puts a hand up to intercept the second making her scream in pain as the pick skewers her palm. They struggle, she pulls her hand back disarming the aggressor, but Echo trips her and they both fall to the ground. The assassin straddles her to keep her in place and reaches for a pillow. Her screams get muffled, the soft material presses in her face and her lungs start to burn almost immediately.

She tries to claw at Echo's face, but she's loosing consciousness. Desperate to stay alive she gathers all the strength she has left and slams her injured hand up, the sharp end of the pick connecting with something, maybe her eye. It's unbelievably painful, she sees stars and isn't sure what's happening for a few moments, but then she's suddenly free. She slaps the pillow away and gasps for air, heavy footsteps approaching fast down the hall.

Hoarsely Ontari calls out for help.

Echo is nowhere to be seen.

  
  


\- - -

  
  


"Lexa, where the fuck are you?” Anya demands to know as soon as she picks up. “You can't just..."

The background of the call is noisy, there are hurried steps and a car door slamming shut. "No time, put me on speaker please."

She waves over to Triss and points, so she knows to lean down to the center of the table and turn on the conference call speakers. A little ding on the line lets them know it's paired with her phone.

“You have the room.”

"Nyko just called, somebody attacked the agents on guard at the hospital. The scene is still active, I'm on my way there now. I want you to keep working on the identity of the new mole, their moves are getting more overt as we close in on them, they are making mistakes and we have to cash in on them.”

Anya immediately finds Lincoln's eyes, and he's already half way to the desk he's occupied down here to retrieving his gun from a locked drawer. She starts to do the same.

"We can do that later Lex, just give us a moment and we'll meet you en route."

"No, I said to stay there. Give Reyes and Griffin anything they need, I want a list of names we can start to work on as soon as this thing is done. Absolute priority, got it?"

Why does she always have to do this? It's no use anyway, once her sister is in this mode there is nothing that can get to her, she'll call out the play and expect everybody to fall in line or get left behind. Infuriating really, but more often than not effective.

“Anya?”

"Yes, fine."

"Good." The line goes silent.

Lincoln has holstered his pistol, retrieved his jacket and not for a moment slowed down at Lexa's instructions. Walking out the room he nods to Anya. "I'll keep you in the loop."

“And my sister alive, please.”

“Goes without saying.”

“Thank you!” She calls after him as he runs to his car.

After he's left Raven looks around the room, impatiently waiting for somebody to fill her in and when that doesn't happen she just bluntly asks: "What's at the hospital?"

Anya lets out a huff. At this point she might as well put all the cards on the table... "Ontari."

It's almost worth it to see their look of genuine surprise, neither Reyes nor Griffin knew the girl was still alive. Well, Blondie didn't have much chance to put that one together since she's mostly kept in an isolated safe house, but still, it's nice to have the upper hand for once.

"And what is she doing there exactly?"

She shrugs. "Recovering from being shot. You heard the boss, better get started on this mole hunt then. What do you need from us?”

  
  


\- - -

  
  


When Lexa finally gets to the hospital she has to flash her badge to get trough the security cordon the Marshals already placed in the entry hall. New visitors get politely but firmly turned away, while people that were already inside and are now trying to leave have to stand in a long line while hospital security checks ids and searches bags.

When the elevator opens on the restricted floor, Nyko and and a bunch of other agents are already waiting, a gray haired man she's introduced to simply as Sarge having the command. He quickly shakes her hand and gets to it.

“The hospital is on lock down, but still operational. It's the best we could do seeing the circumstances, there's a lot of patience here. Emergency intake is also still open on the ground floor, but I have two men on it, nobody will leave that way.”

“Good job.” She nods and takes the scene in. It's a mess. The room has been tossed, streaks of blood on the sheets and floor, another big red stain outside. Two experienced field agents have already been killed and the perpetrator is still at large.

“There are cameras,” Sarge continues, “But coverage is restricted to few areas of interest because of privacy concerns and the description we have is vague anyway: White woman in her late twenties, long brown hair, scrubs.”

“She probably changed that by now.”

He grunts in agreement. “The cordon went up fast though, we have reason to believe she's still on the premise. All vehicles in the garage have been restricted, people that match the description are pulled aside for further questioning. It's something, but we can't keep it up forever, if she's smart she could go to ground in this place and wait us out.”

She thought the same on the way over, there is too much ground to cover...

“Anything else?”

He nods. “Ma'am, she's armed with agents Bright's gun.”

“I thought she lost it in the fight.” Nyko interjects, knitting his brow.

“Yes, agent Shift's, that's the one she came in with, but she took agent Bright's before fleeing from the area. His two reserve clips too.” The older man points to where the agents on the door was stabbed.

“I understand.” The circumstances aren't ideal, to put it mildly, but it's still salvageable if they move quickly. The attacker is probably the same assassin they met at the consulate, Echo, who Griffin said is a former spetsnaz. People like that don't give up. “How many men do you have here now?”

“A dozen inside, the others are on the perimeter.”

“Ok. Give me three teams of two agents each, check out this floor, the one above and the one below. Room for room. She could still be close by, I don't want surprises. Tell them to stay together and keep constant radio contact, we are not loosing anybody else today.”

“Got its, what about the rest?”

“I need somebody from to hospital to prepare an ambulance in the underground garage, clear it for transit. A four person escort brings the patient down there and out of this hospital as soon as it is ready, put your best men on it.”

“Yes ma'am.”

They start to move out, but she stops Nyko by the wrist. “Where is Ontari now?”

“Over there with a doc, why?”

  
  


\- - -

  
  


Turns out Griffin and Reyes don't need much at all. None of the dozens of databases Triss has access to for starters, nor high tech gadgets of any kind, just an old school whiteboard and markers to dissect Clarke's files point by point considering who would have had access to it's details. It's boring and it takes ages.

“Definitely intelligence savvy, government, not consultant.”

Raven passes a piece of paper to Clarke, who nods and pins it in place in it's designated column.

“This stuff here is pretty believable, I'd say somebody familiar with the bureaucracy.”

“Seems likely, yes.” The brunette agrees, stretching out her back. She's discarded her blazer and tie, and empty paper mugs are starting to pile up dangerously on pretty much every available surface.

"So... Inside the CIA?” Anya asks impatiently, feeling like the third wheel.

“No.” Clarke shakes her head pensively. “After I was arrested, I'm pretty sure they turned the Agency upside down searching for possible accomplices. If the point was to hide the mole’s involvement in Nia’s activities she would never have pointed them so close to her asset, they must hide somewhere else. Someplace they didn't look.”

Raven sits down, one hand trying to inconspicuously massage her leg. "That's true, there was an inquiry of almost a year, they were checking receipts for everything. Half the reason I got the job is that I had a bombproof case to show I wasn't involved.”

The joke falls flat, but the reasoning is solid, making the women consider other option.

"As far as I know Lexa didn't tell anybody outside the FBI that Ontari was still alive, and even there only a select few on our team and the necessary superiors to authorize her medical holding. The Marshals guarding her don't know who she is, I don’t think a CIA officer would have had access to that information either.”

"No they wouldn't."

"Which means it's somebody either in the FBI or up the chain."

"Same logic works for the reverse, FBI agents wouldn't have insider info on the CIA..."

"So it's definitely somebody on high."

Impatient as ever, Anya taps her pen on the tabletop and goes for it. "Ok, I'm going to say it, because somebody has to: It could be Senator Jaha.”

“No way. He may be an A grade asshole but he really loved his son. There’s no way he would have risked his life even as collateral damage, let alone have him killed.”

“I heard their relationship wasn't that great...”

“No, she's right.” Griffin confirms, “They were family friends, I knew them pretty well, he wouldn't have done anything like this.”

  
  


\- - -

  
  


Echo silently waits in a dark maintenance closet listening in on the radio communications, until the transfer is ready. With closed eyes she follows along on a mental map of the hospital, trying to understand the route they will be taking and choosing the best stop for her ambush, only when she knows she slips out under the harsh neon lights again and starts to prepare.

The girl has a twisted ankle and lost a significant amount of blood from her hand and torn stitches, they are rolling her on a gurney with four man guarding her. They will go trough internal medicine, then cross a long empty hallway and reach the secondary elevators that go down all the way to the underground parking lot. That's when they will be at their most alert, best to hit them early, when they feel safe.

  
  


\- - -

  
  


“Liam Uphold.”

“Retired years ago.” Raven shoots her down without even looking from her stack of papers.

“Good for him.”

“Yeah, no... It was more of a _me too_ situation.”

“Ah.” Clarke stops for a moment to consider her interactions with the senior intelligence analyst trough the years, but she has at best a hazy recollection by now and doesn't really care.

“How about this guy?” Anya points to a page. “Major Henry T. Davis at INSCOM”

“No.” Clarke shakes her head.

“Why?”

She and Raven exchange a look, the blonde trying to fight a smile.

“He's too dumb.” The brunette spells out and crumples up a page for her reject pile. “How about...” She pauses.

They all look expectantly at her, but she doesn't complete her sentence.

“How about what?”

“I don't know, is there even anybody left?”

Triss snorts and Anya throws some useless pages in her direction like confetti, but Clarke is distracted and keeps looking over to the board. It's there somwhere...

“What? Do you have something?”

She looks over to her former colleague and shrugs, “I keep getting back to the Senate Supervisory Committee. They have the right access and operational knowledge, a good reason to look into almost everything they would need to orchestrate plot like this... And then there's something else that's bugging me: Why did the mole kill Wells?”

“What do you mean?”

“They bombed our home base, fine. They shot at a few others, ok. But the only other place they put a high yield explosive is under Wells' car. Why?”

“I don't know.” Anya shrug, trying her luck sniffing one of the many half empty coffee cups on the table. “High profile target, son of a senator. Maybe they wanted to make a statement.” She takes a small sip and makes a disgusted face, immediately abandoning the beverage.

“Yes, maybe, but... It also assured that Thelonious would become the single issue bloodhound we now know and hate.”

“You think they did it on purpose?” Raven asks skeptically.

“Why not? Once they conveniently gave him a culprit to blame he's become an additional safeguard against any further investigation in the matter. You were the ones at the hearing, but I understand he's doing everything in his power to shut this down.”

It's true, the pain for his son's loss has blinded him completely, making him the perfect road block to any reevaluation of the evidence, or contrasting testimony.

“They would have had to know him and his son pretty well to foresee something like this, don't you think?”

“Yes, probably.”

Raven walks up to the board and points to the stuff they connected to the committee. “Jaha's had that chairmanship on Intelligence for two terms now, but before him it was... Charles Pike. He's had Thelonius under his wing for ages, similar political views, close personal friend, somebody who would be able to predict his reactions pretty well.”

“The Senator from Massachusetts? Isn’t he publicly a hardcore anti-Russian guy? Why would he sell out?”

“No idea, but the shoe fits.”

“Would he be capable of something like this? Not just the attacks, but the targeted assassination of a friend's son to cover his own back? Seems cold.”

“If he's the type of guy that's capable of staying buried inside the government for this long, absolutely.” Clarke nods slowly, “You don't get this deep without a more than healthy dose of self preservation instinct and a smidge of sociopathy.”

“Well, means and opportunity are there,” Anya concedes, “But we also need motive.”

The data is all around them in theory, on the floor and on the board. Rows upon rows of numbers, places and names connected to operations all around the globe, half of which are by now unreadable.

“Triss, I think you can boot that computer now.”

  
  


\- - -

  
  


The little tires of the gurney squeak horribly as they push it down the hallway. Nobody should he housed in these rooms, but there wasn't really time to to a thorough check. The quick moving agents keep an eye out, but nobody notices when a door swings open slightly. A shot rings out and hits the fire extinguisher they are just passing, showering the whole area in fine white mist.

“Keep going!” One of the guy shouts, pulling his own pistol and taking cover behind a metal locker. “I'll keep her off your backs.”

Yeah, not likely.

She hits him square in the chest, twice, probably not killing him if the vest is good enough, but putting him out of the fight for now. The elevator at the end of the hall dings open and two agents push Ontari inside, with one covering them from outside. When the doors start to close and their charge is safe that one starts running back to her position, probably to recover his injured colleague he can't really see in trough her improvised smoke screen.

“Frank? Frank? Call out!”

Shots ring out in her general direction, but they go wide. “Stay in cover, she's still here!”

With no interest in shooting it out with US Marshals she empties her clip blindly and bolts for the stairwell to make her way quickly downwards reloading her weapon. Fortunately they must have cleared this part of he hospital, because nobody sops her pursuit and she reaches the ground floor with a few moments to spare. The elevated pulse makes her sloppy, but it's almost done anyway.

Their ride is already there, no driver yet, but it's unlikely they would wait for him if they make it down there. She takes up position in the shadows, just as the elevator doors open and the remaining two agents fill out.

“Check the stairs!” One calls to the other, dividing them even further to her advantage.

The last bodyguard has one hand on the gurney and his pistol in his other, sweeping quickly from side to side while he crosses the small distance. A door slams shut close by, making her turn to it for a moment and robbing her of a clear shot. No matter, she readjusts and showers him in bullets just as he pushes the girl inside the ambulance. Some hit, there's blood, but he dives away to safety.

Keeping the bulk of the emergency vehicle between them she runs up to the passenger side door, squeezes off a few more shots to keep the Marshal at the doors pinned down and goes for the finale.

She pulls the handle, lifts her gun, three shots ring out in rapid succession.

Ontari shot her right in chest. A tight grouping like they teach at Quantico.

Except it's not Ontari, but Lexa Woods under the hospital sheets and heavy gauze taped over her face. She pulls the improvised disguise off her and climbs between the front seats to make sure Echo is down for good. There's no life behind her eyes when she reaches her, but she still kicks the gun from her grasp to be sure.

“You alright there Nyko?” She calls out.

“Just a flesh wound. Or two.” Comes the pained response after a moment. “Luckily we are already in a hospital.” He coughs and laughs at his own lame joke.

Lexa kneels over the assassin and pats her down until she finds the stolen radio.

  
  


\- - -

  
  


When she walks in on Ontari's new room about half an hour later a nurse is carefully swabbing her mangled and now sutured hand. There is a bunch of other small band aids and new scratches on her arms and face, but all in all she seems to be in pretty good health.

“That's the second time I saved you life now.” Lexa tells her, “It's time to start paying me back."

The brunette dubiously arches an eyebrow. "Second?"

She nods. "The first one was when I didn't kill you."

A moment passes between them, a duel of wills maybe, but it's quick this time and Ontari deflates pretty quickly. She just shakes her head slowly and clears her still somewhat scratchy throat.

"Fair. What do you need?"

  
  


\- - -

  
  


The sun's going down when Anya and Raven meet with Lincoln at the hospital entrance. He was too late for most of the excitement, but has been filled in by Nyko while the doctors were treating his superficial wounds and even spoken with Lexa for a few minutes before she was pulled away to coordinate the fallout of the crazy hospital shootout.

They walk to the cafeteria and he gives the other two a quick summary of what went down until the woman herself is able to join them. It's pretty far out there.

“Do you guys ever have a normal day or two around here?” Reyes laughs without much humor.

“Not for a while to be honest, and the outlook isn't any better.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

When Lexa shows up soon after and sits down at their table she's bone tired but still a bit twitchy on all the adrenaline. She's been back on the job for less than a week and already she's discharged her weapon again, lethally., at this point she half expects Titus to jump out from behind a corner and slap her with a suspension or something.

She shakes her head trying to clear it somewhat, but doesn't do much except make her sister look at her in a weird way.

“So... Do you have a name for me?”

Anya nods. “Yes. Well, maybe...”

“Yes.” Raven assures her firmly.

"Good. I think I have a plan. It's going to be a bit... unconventional."

"What else is new?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the fun thing about fanfics is that you don't really need to introduce all the players from the start, since we all have a working knowledge of the canon. A spy novel would at least have to mention Pike somewhere to make this reveal work, and probably partially ruin it by doing so, but here I can just pull him like a rabbit from my magician's hat and it still makes sense... I hope :P
> 
> In other news: With the end of this story approaching I'm starting to think about what I'm going to work on next. I'm not sure if I want to do something big like this again or maybe work on a smaller project for a change, some one shots maybe? Does anybody have suggestions? I wanted to play with the idea of a poly ship, but here is no context to it yet.


	20. Chapter 20

There’s a knock at the door, which is very strange. 

Who walks up to a federal safe house unannounced and just knocks? Moreover, why has this person not been tackled to the ground by a bunch of hypervigilant US Marshals? All these questions and a more than appropriate dose of general paranoia make Clarke dive towards a wall for cover and carefully sneak a look from the curtained window.

Turns out it’s the Assistant Deputy Director of Operations at the CIA. 

Makes sense, she guesses.

“Hi.” When the blonde finally opens the door feeling pretty stupid Raven stands there casually, looking a bit bored. She’s unsure what to say and decides to just gesture her inside. “Is it time already?”

“I'm a bit early.” The other woman shrugs and offers her a paper cup from the takeaway tray she’s holding. Too stunned to react any other way she takes it and sniffs the content hesitantly. Espresso and milk, probably two sugars too, exactly like she usually takes it, or rather like she used to take it before she was sent to a supermax and hadn’t had a decent drink since.

When she looks up the latina arches an eyebrow.

"It's just coffee, don't overthink it."

She nods and takes a first, glorious sip.

“Octavia sends her best by the way. She’s oh-so-proud of the part she played in putting this thing together, even if she’s not completely sure what it is yet. Takes all the credit for it.”

“Yeah,” Clarke smiles, “I can picture that. How is she?”

“Seems fine, I don’t really know much to be honest. We’ve all been busy.”

She hums in understanding, but that’s it for the initial pleasantries. An awkward silence descends between them as Raven looks around her sparse temporary home and she busies herself with the coffee. Finally her guest’s inquisitive eyes fall on the small stack of books laying on the couch, one of the very few personal items around.

"What'cha reading?" She asks, pulling the words together in a smacking sound she often tries when she gets fiddly. At least Clarke’s not the only one ill at ease.

“Just a few things Lexa got me, I wanted to return them today.”

“Mmh.” The brunette gives her a sly grin.

“What?” 

“Lexa, eh?”

“What?” She asks again, a bit more forcefully than necessary perhaps.

“You and Woods sure have warmed up to each other since the last time I looked in. You’ve got a really… interesting thing going.”

Oh god. “No.”

“I’m just saying… She’s an intriguing character.”

Knowing exactly what Raven is trying to say she just rolls her eyes. “Yes, I get it, she’s super hot and super great and smart and whatever, but I’m keeping my eyes on the ball here. Some of us have grown up, you know?”

The CIA officer nods, but it’s very clear she’s not convinced.

“I heard she had a meltdown the other day after our meeting.”

“Yeah... Not sure what happened there.”

“Yeah, I wonder...” Again a little glint in her eye tells Clarke she means more than she says.

 

Thankfully they move on from the subject and make a little more small talk, pretty successfully avoiding all sensitive topics, then fall into a more comfortable silence than before waiting for the others. After a while Clarke can’t help herself trough and blurts out what’s been on her mind for a while. 

“Can I see it?”

“What?”

She nods her head towards the stiff leg Raven has stretched in front of her.

“No.” Her answer is curt, but not aggressive. She just shuts her down and goes back to looking out the window, where the sleepy little suburb they have her cooped up in doesn’t offer much entertainment.

“Ok.”

The quiet stretches on for a few moments, but Raven and being still have never mixed well. Seeing the blonde look over again she mumbles:  “It's just a leg. Nothing to see, just some scars.”

“Ok, sorry.” Clarke defends herself, really not meaning to put her on the spot.

“This is going to take time, isn’t it?” The brunette exhales slowly.

“Yeah, seems like it.”

“Do you have something stronger?” She asks, shaking the empty coffee cup. 

“It’s ten in the morning...”

“So what? You are unemployed.” 

That makes Clarke snort, and even the latina’s smile gets a bit more genuine. They look at each other, two very different people since they first met, since they became friends and partners. So much has happened, so much has changed, but if there’s one person from her past she’d like to win back it has to be rambunctious Raven Reyes.

She has to at least try.

“Can we talk?”

Sensing her serious tone, the woman puts up a hand to stop her in her tracks.

“Clarke, listen, I'll spare you some time: What you did is fucked up, there is no denying it, but I don't have a daughter or much of a family for that matter, so I really can't imagine the situation you were in. Does it mean that all is forgiven and forgotten? No, but the fact that it turns out you didn't become a millionaire by blowing me up does help...”

That makes sense. “So... Time.” She repeats.

“Yes, time. And possibly fucking Nia up for good.”

Her throat feels a bit constricted all of a sudden, so she clears it. “We can do that.”

“Maiming her a bit would be cool.”

“Raven…”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re the good guys. I know”

 

\- - -

 

Finally a honk from outside lets them know it’s half past ten. The dark SUV she’s very familiar with by now sits on their curb, Lexa and another woman she hasn’t seen before climbing out of it as they leave the house. She has the posture of a fed, but they seem more comfortable around each other than work acquaintances and for some reason it rubs Clarke the wrong way.

She pushes the thought down as they meet halfway.

“Anya and Lincoln are still tied up with Mount Weather. This is Luna, a colleague from my old posting.” The brunette tells them and they shake hands. 

Unexpectedly the new agent gives her a bright smile, a very different reaction to what she usually gets these days. “Hi, I heard so much about you.”

Really? That’s weird.

“Nice to meet you.” She almost stammers in surprise. 

Raven quickly introduces herself to Luna too and starts to make her way around the large car, while Lexa points back towards the house. “You can make yourself comfortable inside, I just have to check in with the security detail and we’ll be on our way in no time.”

Before she walks off Clarke stiffly lifts the grocery bag she has with her and holds it towards her. 

“I.. I brought you your book. Thank you again.”

As soon as the other woman has taken hold of it she turns away and starts walking to the car, right towards Raven, who watches her holding back a grin. “Very smooth.”

“Oh shut the fuck up.” She shoots back, then stops herself wondering if she’s gone too far, but the latina doesn’t seem bothered. Maybe there is hope to get back to how things were.

 

After informing the Marshals about their planned schedule and signing some paperwork Lexa comes back out to see only Luna is still outside the car, leaning against its hood. Knowing that probably means she has something to say, she braces herself for snark and isn’t disappointed.

“You gave them to her? You never let me borrow your books.”

She walks right past her to the trunk and puts the bag inside. “You leave crumbs everywhere.”

“She's a convicted felon!” Her former partner counters after she’s closed it again, at least she’s making sure the women inside won’t hear their stupid banter.

“But a clean eater.”

Luna looks at her expectantly. 

“Do not start.”

“I didn't say a thing.” She grins, knowing she really doesn’t need to.

“Just leave me alone, I'm trying to save the country here.”

“Have some fun along the way, will you?”

“Not a chance.”

 

\- - -

 

The drive goes smoothly, they beat traffic and leave the urban area pretty quickly, using the spare time to catch everybody up on where the case is at the moment. Even so it’s nearly noon when they finally reach the luxurious suburbia they were heading to. The streets are lined with  quaint parks, large trees and large colonial houses on both sides, each more impressive than the previous.

They pull into one of the driveways and a young black girl with short bleached blonde hair walks out the front door to welcome them with a familiar wave. When they walk up she hugs both FBI agents in turn.

“Hey Gaia, how's Princeton treating you?”

“I’m thinking of dropping out and becoming a dog groomer.” She huffs.

Luna nods at her sagely. “Seems like a reliable career, plus think of all the puppies, I’m sure Indra would understand completely.”

“If you say so…” Lexa shrugs a bit less convinced.

Gaia laughs and shakes her head. “Mom is in the greenhouse.”

“You two go ahead,” Luna gestures to Lexa and Clarke, holding Raven back. “She doesn't like to get crowded. We’ll be inside catching up.”

 

\- - -

 

The aforementioned greenhouse isn’t a modern construction of plywood and plastic sheets, but a genuine antique metal frame inset with hundreds of little glass windows the size of a plate. A jungle of green shrubs and colorful flowers seem to fill the large space up completely until they walk up to the door and Clarke sees that the plants are in fact positioned in orderly lines leaving enough space to move around inside.

Lexa knocks on the frame, and somebody calls back from inside.

“Come in, I was just finishing up here.”

They follow the voice to a wooden work table with a fine dusting of black earth, a dozen small pots with purple buds in them. The owner is a serious looking woman with a strong resemblance to the girl they just saw, wearing a canvas apron and work gloves.

“Clarke, this is Indra, my former boss and mentor.” Lexa introduces her. “She’s been at the  Civil Rights Unit for years and has worked as an independent investigator on some delicate cases after her retirement. If anybody can help us with this it’s her.”

She slips out from her dirty gloves and shakes the blondes hand.

“So Lexa, how about you start from the beginning and tell me what this is about?”

 

\- - -

 

“She just quit?”

Luna and Raven are sitting in the kitchen, drinking a cup of tea Gaia prepared for them. They’ve been left alone as the girl went to her room to study and Indra’s husband, a lawyer apparently, is working on a case in the city and won’t be back till tomorrow.

“It hit her hard. She tried to pretend everything was fine, but it was pretty clear that it wouldn’t work out. She flew off the handle with a perp, blew a few court dates… That gets you an official reprimand.”

“She didn’t take personal time after Costia died?”

“That would have been the normal thing to do, but of course Lexa didn’t. She wanted to be on duty to monitor the investigation, worked on it every minute she could spare from her other case load… she didn’t sleep a whole lot.”

The latina nods slowly, remembering that trying time. “Yeah, I get why that couldn’t last.”

“Indra put her on leave and she saw it as a betrayal. There were some ugly words exchanged and she left. For most people that would be the end of their career, but when things started to die down with the Griffin case… I don’t really know if and how they made up, I was deep undercover for the worst of it all, but she somehow got Lex in again at Kane’s department with a demotion. The rest is history.”

“She got her own team after all of that? That’s impressive.”

“Yeah… A lot of time in the day, if you don’t have any other life except the job.”

The same could be said about her, Raven thinks. It’s a lonely existence, but an effective coping mechanism, even if no therapist in the world would agree.

“Still, getting a second chance like that is no small thing.”

“We used to come to dinner every few months, Derek and I, Costia and Lexa, a few others from the olden times… Indra used to run her taskforce like one big family. And in Lexa’s case it’s even more than that, you know she came up in the system right?”

She shrugs, shaking her head.

“Anyway, when we all started out at the Bureau Anya wasn’t in DC, and this was a while before Costia, she was pretty much on her own all the time. After Indra noticed she was working all the holiday shifts she could get she pretty much adopted her as her own. Christmas, Thanksgiving, Sunday dinners… Gaia hated her for years after Indra got her her own stocking to put on the fireplace.” Luna laughs.

“Hey!” Comes a shout from upstairs. “I was like five!” A pause. “And it was way bigger than mine!”

 

\- - -

 

Indra listens quietly as they explain the complicated matter before them, only occasionally asking very pointed questions, nodding and letting them finish before very calmly giving her opinion. It doesn’t even include that she will help them, that’s a given.

“If this is what you say it is we don't talk on the phone about it, we don’t email about it, we don't speak about it in any government building. This is the kind of investigation that ruins careers and gets people dead. The circle has to be kept very small.”

They both nod.

“Who do you have on it now?” She asks Lexa.

“My team, Luna, Clarke and a few Marshals Lincoln has served with. Raven Reyes is here with us today, but on her own time, plus Clarke has some friends in the PMC crowd.”

The older woman looks over at her, prompting her to speak. 

“Blake Security Solutions. We go way back.”

Indra thinks it over for a moment,  then continues. “That’s not nothing, but you need backing from somebody at the Capitol to make it stick. Prosecuting a sitting senator is tricky, there’s a lot of red tape to navigate.”

“That’s why we’re here.”

“I’ll see what I can do, I have some friends we can call on.” 

Even though Clarke doesn’t know Indra, it’s pretty clear that the brunette has a great deal of respect and trust for her, so it’s good to hear that she thinks their plan may actually work. There’s still a major battle ahead of them, but for once they have the initiative and things are falling into place.

“One more thing.” Lexa injects, “I have to tell Kane something, but I don’t want to expose him any more than he already is. He’s been more than reasonable with me, if this thing goes bad I don’t want him to pay the price for it.”

With an understanding nod, Indra takes a little bonsai tree from a nearby shelf and binds a small red ribbon around it’s trunk, then pushes it towards her former protege.

“Give this to Marcus, or have it delivered if you prefer, but let him know it’s from you. He won't ask you questions or assign you any new tasks for a while, and run interference if anybody comes looking while you do what needs to be done. Since you didn’t tell him anything he will have plausible deniability should we all end up on the stand.”

Lexa knits her brow and looks at her. She never really got the story about how the two Deputy Directors know each other, just assuming they were casual acquaintances, but from time to time she got little glimpses like this that spoke of a deeper and more adventurous past. Does she even want to ask? Probably not right now.

She closes her mouth and just takes the small tree.

“Thank you Indra.” Griffin tells her sincerely.

“Don’t mention it. Now let’s go eat.” Taking off the apron and hanging it from a hook, she leads them back towards the house. “But no work talk under my roof, understood?”

“Yes, I remember.” Lexa nods with a smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you didn't mind a slower chapter for a change, you can consider this the last stop before we go all in on the end run. :D So have some backstory, some relationship rebuilding and some much needed planning, bullets will be flying again soon enough. Thank you all for the nice comments and interesting suggestions for my next projects, I'm even toying with the idea to get myself a tumblr to workshop some of that stuff maybe.
> 
> In other news: I finally did some housekeeping on my notes to see if I was missing anything and have noticed that I made some mistakes with the ranks of the various characters I presented. It's not really a big deal, but here is a full list, I'll go trough all the chapters in the next few days and correct them where necessary:
> 
> Clarke, then Raven - Assistant Deputy Director (Directorate of Operations), CIA  
> Kane - Assistant Director (Counterintelligence Division), FBI  
> Indra - Former Assistant Director (Civil Rights Unit), FBI  
> Lexa - Special Agent-in-Charge, FBI  
> Anya and Luna- Supervisory Special Agent, FBI  
> Lincoln - Senior Special Agent, FBI  
> Triss - Special Agent, FBI  
> Nyko - Supervisory Deputy, US Marshal


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice this isn't exactly what I teased and that's because I had to rewrite my first draft completely because it didn't really work. Stuff like that happens sometimes, no biggie, I'm happier with this version.

Senator Charles Pike from Massachusetts has an impressive office on the third floor of the Dirksen Building, all dark wood paneling and maroon leather with an impressive view of the Capitol Complex. Every person that has the privilege of visiting it can't help but have an immediate and undeniable impression about the kind of power and influence the man wields, and that's exactly the point.

For more than two decades now he's walked the halls of power in Washington and before that he was in the army, should you ask anybody what they think about Charles Pike they would tell you he bleeds red, white and blue. He doesn't bend, he doesn't compromise, he fights for the narrow set of old fashioned values he believes in and nothing the modern world has to offer will change his mind on that.

He like to think there aren't many things in his immediate surrounding that happen without his explicit say so, nor does he usually appreciate surprises, but the default ringer of a burner phone going off during his morning quiet time at work is definitely one of them. He folds and puts down the newspaper he was reading, takes out a key from his pocket and opens the drawer the noise is coming from.

Among other things five identically cheap cellphones rest there, one with it's display alight.

“Yes?” He answers.

“I'm calling from the Cayman Fidelity Bank about the numbered account 4160008411. Do you mind confirming your ownership for me, please?”

“Of course.” As a significant part of his undeclared personal wealth is stored in that tax heaven, he reaches back into the drawer for the small black book he keeps that kind of information in and opens the pertinent page. Without a name attached to the account, those credentials are the only thing connecting him to the money.

“The first password is Unity. Your response?”

“Alpha.”

“Secondary check, Hydra.”

“Exodus.”

“Very well, Sir. There's been an issue, an attempted cyberintrusion traced to a Russian IP address cluster likely aimed at emptying out the account. We are happy to report that it didn't succeed and your balance of three million five hundred and thirty six thousand dollars US is intact. Since you opted for the complete security package you get timely notification about this kind of operational details, but there is no reason to worry.”

“Yes, thank you for calling me, is there anything else?”

“Not at the moment, Sir. Have a nice day.”

He stashes the phone quickly away and ponders. For a cyberattack to be traced back to Russia isn't that uncommon, the lax regulations on and difficult enforcement of all things technological make that part of the world rife with hackers, but it's worrying nonetheless. He would be a fool not at least to consider it could be connected to Azgeda somehow.

Pulling a different burner he composes the number of his contact with the organization from memory, but instead of a response he's informed that the line has been disconnected. Mmh. Why would they show him the cold shoulder now, so close to their biggest operation yet? Even if they didn't connect he still pulls the SIM card out from the device and breaks it between his thumbs. Better safe than sorry.

The FBI investigation into Nia Queen's activities in the United States has been making slow but constant progress under that young female agent's supervision, it's possible parts of the network went underground because of it. It could be a completely normal operational security measure they implemented to protect themselves, it's not like they keep him constantly in the loop, but it still feels somehow off.

“Senator,” One of his secretaries calls from the other room, “You have a lunch appointment in the city, the details are in in daily planner on your desk.”

“Give me the cliff notes, Emma.”

“It's about he military contracts coming up in the fall. A local security firm would like to put their hat in the ring and get your opinion on some estimates.”

“Right, I remember now. I'll be out in fifteen.”

He takes great care to put everything back into its place and lock up before he leaves.

 

\- - -

 

The lunch is at a very fancy stake house in downtown DC, his driver lets him out right in front and takes the car around while he and walks inside. A few pleasantries with the waiter and it's on to “the good table” in the back, where the lobbyist du jour is already waiting and raises for a proper greeting.

“Ah, Senator Pike, good to see you. Bellamy Blake.” He's young, with ex military written all over him. The business must be doing good, judging from his suit and watch. “I've taken the liberty of ordering us some drinks, you are a cognac guy, right?”

“You intelligence is correct, Mr Blake.” He jokes jovially and sits down, like he's done a million times with people like him. “Seems you have me at a disadvantage, can you fill me in about what I should know about your company's past endeavors and future plans?”

“Of course, it would be my pleasure.”

They order and start the usual political dance between elected representative and private business spokesperson, in which both try to get their part out of it. This right here is what makes America great, he thinks while cutting into the meat.

 

 

The excellent filet is halfway gone and they've made significant progress, when the door of the establishment opens up again and two feds walk in. The waiter hurries to intercept them, but they flash their badges and push trough as patrons look on, aiming straight for their table. The one in the lead is that Woods woman, Alexandra or something, the other is young and probably of less consequence. What are they doing here?

“Good morning Senator. Mr Blake.” She nods, “Very nice to meet you both here.”

Blake answers her greeting calmly, in a way that gives away his part in this craven ambush. To his credit he at least doesn't try to hide it either.

“I'm really sorry Senator,” he shrugs, adjusting his tie as he slides out from his seat. “Letting them know you would be here was a favor for a mutual friend, you know how this city works. I hope this won't put a damper on our future collaboration however, I'll call your office about those contracts in the next few days and make it up with a nice aged bottle.”

So much for for an easy lunch break. Still, not one to let himself we swept away by the unexpected, Pike puts down his cutlery and reaches for his wine glass ready to see where this is going.

“What can I do for you, Special Agent Woods?”

“You already know about us, good.” She comments taking a seat. “That will save us some time.”

“I am informed about a lot of things, Special Agent, I am an United States Senator. It's something you should keep in mind when going forward in this conversation, I think.”

His casual threat is ignored and the woman continues right ahead.

"Well, I do too. For example I know you have been secretly dealing with Nia Queen, a wanted foreign agent and terrorist."

The audacity! He forces himself to school his facial features at her accusation and listen closely to every word they are about to say, but it costs him some effort not to react. Stupid fucking cockroaches putting their noses where they don't belong.

She gestures to her partner, who produces a smartphone and pulls up the muted video of a badly injured young brunette in an interrogation room. "This is Ontari Scott, you may have heard about her since she was arrested a few months ago on account of her part in the recent attack on a Bureau facility." She pauses. "I put Ontari in protective custody hoping to turn her, but she refused to talk to us about Azgeda. Until recently that is, it appears that after Nia tried to have her permanently silenced she isn't feeling that loyal to her anymore. She is giving us names, the most interesting of which is you."

Even in his anger that gives him pause for a moment.

So Nia tried to kill her own agent. Sure, the woman had been captured, but from what Woods was saying she was keeping her mouth shut and not cooperating, an attempt on her life while she was under surveillance had been an unnecessary risk. Is she getting paranoid? That could be a big fucking problem for him.

“But you are lucky Senator, I am far more interested in cutting the head of this snake off than parading you around in cuffs, that gives you the chance to get out from under this mess. Just keep the ball rolling, tell us how they recruited you and we'll see that your legacy stays intact.” She drums her fingers on the table, “A quiet retirement maybe, health reasons or something like that.”

They are talking a big game, but it's clear to him that there isn't much backing behind it, the case must be pretty shake if there hasn't been talk of handcuffs yet. Without solid proof nobody inside the FBI will risk making an enemy of him, Woods is probably flying solo.

“You are playing with fire, Special Agent. I'm not only innocent, but sufficiently connected with your superiors to have you removed with one phone call. Transferred, demoted, fired, it's all at my fingertips.” A bit garish to start like that perhaps, but the day had been an irritating one. “Now, I won't do that because I know you are just doing your job, but by all appearances you are being led on a wild goose chase by a less than reliable source, which doesn't reflect very well on your competence.”

She opens her mouth to talk again, but he stops her lifting a hand. “Let me be clear, leave and I will forget this ever happened, but I won't tolerate a scene in public. In that case I'll be forced to have my security escort you out.”

He demonstratively turns over to the bar, where his man is drinking at the counter. He doesn't like big entourages since they limit his free movement, so he has a former police officer drive him around as protection, but the older man is sharp and has the kind of experience that can't be taught.

With one look he asks if his services are needed. Pike shakes his head.

He doesn't think it will come to a confrontation. Not today.

“If you change your mind, call me.” Lexa tells him, clearly running out of steam on her desperate hail mary. He nods vaguely and returns to his now solitary meal.

 

 

The women are about to push the door open and make their exit, when a loud crash shatters the windows of the restaurant and something whistles past Pike's head destroying the glassware on the table. _Sniper_ , his long dormant military instincts yell at him and he launches himself to the ground. A second shot tears trough the back of seat he was just in.

His security guard rushes over, gun in hand and maneuvers him further down into cover.

“There's a shooter on the opposite side of the street.” He barks uselessly.

“I can see that, Hank.”

“We should move to the back exit, but if it's an organized ambush there could be more bogies out there, so I need you to keep low and follow my lead.”

The ugly sound of gunfire rings out again, this time much closer, and Pike catches the FBI agents laying down cover fire from their position. Good, maybe their irritating visit wasn't completely useless.

“Now!”

He runs off as fast as his Italian shoes will let him towards the kitchen, where his security pushes cowering waiters and cooks aside and guides him to an nondescript door propped open with an empty crate. There's some noise at their back, but it's just the feds coming up to help.

“Keep going!” Woods calls out, “Is the car close?”

“Outside on the left in the parking lot, 200 yards.” Hank tells them efficiently, “But there's an open area to cross first. Line of fire from a residential building on the right.”

To her credit the brunette nods, and ready to do her duty, the investigation into him momentarily forgotten. “You take the Senator, we'll cover you. Backup is on it's way.”

The door is kicked open and they fan out to their respective positions, while he does his best to get to the safety of his town car. He and Hank run across the concrete expanse, but when they are half way there the one right next to it goes up in an explosion that sweeps them off the their feet and to the ground.

Smoke. He can't see his security guard anywhere.

It's Woods that helps him up and pushes him towards a side alley.

“Where is Hank?” He calls over the ringing in his ears.

“He went down, keep moving!” She yells, changing her clip. “Go! Go!”

He frankly isn't sure if somebody's still shooting at them, his vision is blurry and his head hurts, but since the FBI agent is acting like they are in danger he thinks it wise to do the same.

Finally they reach the other end of the small passageway between buildings and a dark SUV screeches to a stop right in front of them. “Inside, quick.” The other young agent is at the wheel, and they take off quickly leaving the danger behind.

What the hell is going on?

 

 

It's not long until they are reasonably sure to have shaken the attackers that Woods gets back to pushing her agenda. Like a dog with a bone.

“I told you Senator, Nia is cauterizing all her loose ends, apparently that includes you now. Start talking and I can get you in witness protection today.”

“I told you, I don't know what you are talking about.”

She turns on her seat to look back at him. “They just tried to have you killed!”

“Yes. Because of my jobs there are a lot of different reasons for my life to be in danger, it's not the first and it will certainly not be the last. I thank you for your help, but I think I'd prefer if you let me get in contact with the Metropolitan Police now, they oversee this kind of thing.”

They don't like it one bit, but what can they do, refuse a high profile victim like him his basic rights? In the end they even drive him up to the police station after informing them about his arrival to make sure he's in safe hands before fuck off on their merry way.

 

\- - -

 

It takes a while to answer all the questions the police officers have for him, but as soon as he gets home he changes out of his ruined clothes and pours himself a glass. Then he goes up into the master bedroom to take his gun out of the safe.

His new and improved security detail is composed of two metro cop cars sitting in his driveway and a third one patrolling the backside of his property, but it's easy enough to slip away from them if you know what you are doing. He walks down side streets and keeps away from the streetlights until he reaches a small neighborhood park he often visits on Sundays.

There's no time to wait for the weekend this time, so he pushes the old metal gate open and searches for the right lap post to trace an X with a piece of chalk on. It's an old dead drop they've used in the past, Nia will know he needs to talk.

Satisfied with his work he leaves and starts to make his way home again.

 

 

After a few minutes a somebody who was following him comes out the shadows on the other side of the streets and erases his sign with a bottle of water. Message not received.

 

\- - -

 

When Pike gets into work the day after there's two things waiting for him on his desk, a bouquet white of flowers and a copy of the preliminary report about the shooting. The card with the flowers seems innocent enough, just a printed thank you note for the fundraiser he attended last week, but examining it more closely he notices a few key words that make him pay attention.

With a pencil and a pad of paper he counts the letters out and circles some of them, following a code he's used with Azgeda before. A time and address appear in the gibberish. It's an old school and low tech method of communication, but it has the advantage that it can't be traced back to the sender contrary to a phone call. It could just be an additional layer of security, but it still gives him pause after yesterday's events. Are they trying to take him out?

He opens the manila folder to take a look at the investigation about the attempt on his life. Hank was heavily hit by shrapnel and bled out before the first responders could get there, he makes a mental note to send his wife something. Nothing yet on the car bomb, professional for sure but no identifiable components found on the scene. No trace of the shooter either, the cameras on the back of the building he or she set up on had been disabled with spraypaint, but they found one brass casing that had slid under a drain.

7,62 × 54 mm R. Popular in Eastern Europe and Russia.

All the signs are starting to point to Nia like that FBI agents warned him about, but the game isn't up yet. If the Russian thinks he's been compromised she's dead wrong, he's not just any guy that can be arrested on hear say, he's a sitting US Senator. He's damn near untouchable. If the meeting they offer him is in good faith he can still clear things up and get them all back on track.

“Emma, can you cancel my appointments for the evening? I'm not feeling well.”

“Right away, Senator. Do you need me to call your physician?”

“No, I'll just go home and sleep it off I think. Please hold all my calls until morning.”

“Yes, Sir. Feel better.”

 

\- - -

 

Again slipping his escort he drives to the rendezvous.

It seems sketchy, meeting at night in a nearly deserted industrial park, but he's probably under too much scrutiny now to arrange anything else. A few times he has the slight impression that somebody is following his car, it's hard to tell if it's just his nerves acting up though.

Their collaboration is unorthodox and yet it's been very useful to keep the lines of communications open between them and help each other out. The chances that Nia herself will be there are almost non existent, but he's hoping for a trusted lieutenant that can pass on a message reminding her of that at least. One that won't shoot and ask questions later.

If not he's more than prepared to defend himself.

He ditches the vehicle in a side street and makes his final approach on foot, not wanting any cameras in the area catching sight of his plates. A hood is pulled up to hide his face well enough as he circles the spot a few times to make sure there are no hidden surprises, then he goes in.

Everything is silent except for the trucks driving by from time to time on the far side.

At the exact agreed spot he recognizes a figure next to a motorbike, helmet still on. It's a woman, slight but athletic, probably that assassin Azgeda has used a few times for cleanup jobs. Crime scene photographs of people killed with a fucking ice pick flood Pike's mind. It's definitely not what he was expecting.

He hesitates for a moment, takes a few steps back, but she's already seen him.

Making a split second decision he turns and runs away, just as she pulls out a compact submachine gun with a silencer affixed and starts shooting after him. Sparks go flying trough the night as bullets hit the concrete around him, a hail of them.

He sprints, manages to take cover behind an old dumpster and pulls out his own pistol.

He has just leven bullets.

Shit.

For the second time in a few days his salvation manifests itself as the FBI. They must have followed him and staked out the meeting somewhere close by, because sirens turn on and a single dark car barrels towards them.

Woods turns hard left and positions it to give him cover, jumping out to return fire.

The assassin is a pro tough, unfazed by the authorities she doesn't retreat, but keeps going for him. The metal plating of the heavy duty dumpster sounds like a menacing drum roll for all the lead she's pumping into it.

“Quick, I'll cover you.” Lexa calls out to him, then she sees movement from the corner of her eyes and turns. “No, Triss!”

The less experienced agent exits too, but that positions her in the line of fire of the Azgeda hitter, who quickly turns the gun on her and riddles her with bullets. The young girl slides down against the vehicle and sacks to the ground. Lifeless.

After that the killer has to reload and Pike seizes the moment to run from his dumpster to the far more sturdy car and yells, “She's gone, we have to go!” He squeezes off a few shots blind and jumps into the back seat. “Move, agent! Go!”

Woods gets in, looks one last time to her fallen colleague, then takes off with enough speed so the doors closes on it's own. Just moments later the shooting starts again and their rear window is shattered.

 

 

“Where are we going?” Pike yells, looking out the back searching for motorbikes on the road.

“Somewhere safe.” Woods tells him trough gritted teeth.

“Get me home!”

“No, they could be waiting for you there.”

“Get me home!”

“Shut up!” She yells back, clearly unstable after seeing the other agent biting the dust. “I'm done playing your game, if Nia kills you I have nothing left to stop her from carrying out her next attack. I won't let you out of my sight.”

He briefly considers using his gun to force her to do as she's told, but that would be going too far if he wants to keep his cover intact. Everything can still be explained away, he tells himself, everything can still be fine. One step at the time, this mess will be solved.

At least it doesn't seem they are being followed into the residential area they are approaching. After a few more minutes of evasive driving they come to a stop and Woods drags him outside towards a non descript house.

“Where are we?”

“The only place I could think of that's completely off the grid.”

She unlocks the front door with keys from her pocket and they quickly enter a living room, where the lights are already lit and Clarke Griffin is sitting on a couch an eating cereal.

Immediately he turns to the brunette. “You can't be serious.”

“Oh believe me, I’m not thrilled about you being here either.” Griffin shoots back, jumping to her feet. “What the hell is going on here, Woods?”

 

\- - -

 

It's been a very long day and Triss is starting to feel herself getting cranky when she finally climbs into the surveillance van outside Clarke's safe house, the fake blood from the squibs still splattered all over her shirt. The other occupants look up at her arrival, Raven Reyes even turns from where she's lounging and gives her an exaggerated once over.

“That wasn't bad at all, rookie. You did theater in high school I'm guessing?”

“Very funny." She tells her, rubbing her face. "Did he buy it at least?”

Octavia nod, still in the motorbike suit she used to mask herself as Echo. "Those sweat stains seem real enough to me, he's shitting his pants."

Raven claps her hands together. "On to the second act then."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it :P
> 
> Update: Since I've officially finished my thesis now I went out and saw Birds of Prey this week and I have to say, it was kind of a hot mess (in the sense of being very entertaining, but also a bit confusing in it's execution). I really liked the characters in it however, so... I decided to write a little 5 chapter fic about Huntress and Black Canary as a palate cleanser, along with an Alycia/Althea Fear one shot, both of which I plan to release without a fixed schedule. One is up today.
> 
> When that's all done I'll probably tackle my next big Clexa, maybe Clexa+Costia, project. I have some ideas.
> 
> I'm also mulling over the possibility to write a little end cap to my interrupted Supergirl fanfic, kind of an outline to show where I was going with it, even if I don't plan on finishing it full on since I lost interest in the show. What do you think about that?


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took a while, but my schedule was turned upside down by the virus/quarantine/stuff. But here we are :)

"Are you sure you don't want me to at least clip him? I could just shoot his ear off."

The younger Blake is positioned on the building across the street from the steak house, watching over the meeting with Pike through the scope of her compact precision rifle. While the single words of the conversation downstairs escape her, the body language of all parties involved is pretty clear. Lexa gives one last shake of her head and approaches the exit.

"Keep on mission, Octavia. One in the table, one in the chair." Raven tells her in a monotone on the radio. “No improv.”

"Come on Clarke, this dude is the reason you had to spend five years in maximum security, let's have some fun at least..."

"Please don't shoot anybody's ear off, O." Clarke chuckles on the same line.

"Whatever." She puffs and moves the crosshairs over to his wine. One trigger pull, glass shards everywhere. Breath in, breath out. The back of Pike’s chair is split by her second hit. "There. A fucking waste of my talent, that's what this entire operation is."

"Thank you for your service. Jasper, stand by on the explosives."

"Ready." He confirms his observation point. "Can I just say Raven, how much more fun work has become since you and Griff are back in the mix? Really makes you wake up with a smile in the morning. All Bellamy has us do is VIP escorts."

"Focus, idiot."

“And I so missed your sunny disposition. Fire in the hole.”

The car bomb goes off right on cue, more bark than bite and with extra smoke mixed in to obscure what’s happening around the scrambling senator. As he’s still disoriented and struggling to get back to his feet two PMC guys drag Hank away and hide him in a parked van. 

“Sedative administered, the bodyguard is out.”

And, scene.

 

A toothless cyberattack on a series of accounts linked to Russian intelligence officers is something Raven can arrange with her eyes closed, cast your net wide enough and hopefully you’ll catch Pike’s too. The theatrics took a bit more work, but having an entire mercenary company at your beck and call helps immensely. 

Ontari didn't know anything about the mole’s identity, but her familiarity with operational details of the Azgeda organization was still precious, particularly the code that gave their secret message credibility, plus the stages confession video to play into Pike’s paranoia.

After that it’s a bit more special effects, Triss’ “death” scene and they’re off to the races.

 

\- - -

 

Lexa paces around the small apartment chewing on her lip. “We can’t call for backup, I’m pretty sure at this point they have the FBI monitored. How else would they know we are closing in? My team is at Mount Weather, it’ll take them a few hours to get back here, but I don’t trust anybody else for the time being.”

“And what if they followed you here?” Clarke argues, still pissed at the intrusion.

“I’m pretty sure we’ve shaken them off…” She looks around a bit lost. “Give me a minute, then I’ll go out again, move the car to the back and see what we have to work with ammo wise. The Marshals on duty will help.”

“Woods! This is stupid!”

“Just a moment, please.” She pleads and disappears behind the bathroom door, the water faucet turning on almost immediately. It’s strange seeing here this rattled, if there’s anything she prides herself is her steely determination and ready planning.

“Her colleague, the young one, she died.” Pike offers as an explanation, still looking around the modest place unsure what to make of it.

“Triss?”

“Sorry, I don’t know her name.” He shrugs unaffected.

“Shit.” Clarke rubs her face. “Goddammit. This is fucked.” 

“Yes. Quite.”

 

As they wait he can feel the blonde’s calculating eyes on him, studying his posture, his clothing, mining every little detail for information. He had never planned to come in close contact with the woman, not with all the secrets hanging between them, but he has to admit he is curious about her too. So this is the infamous Clarke Griffin.

As spies, two among the best in their time probably, their silent confrontation would probably have gone on for hours, but at some point the FBI agent finally emerges from her hiding place marginally more put together and rudely interrupts them.

“Stay inside and away from the windows. Kill the lights” She tells them like they’re civilians, then checks her sidearm and leaves. Perimeter check. Hide the car. He doesn’t really care for the details, but almost immediately after she’s gone Griffin stalks over and grabs his arm. 

“What are you doing?”

“Not here.” She whispers and pushes him towards a far corner of the small house. “It’s a safe house dumbass, there are cameras and audio devices pretty much everywhere.” 

“...but not here.” He deduces looking around the small hallway between living- and bedroom. 

“There were, but I slowly disabled some over time and put clothes up over others.” The blonde explains. “It’s a blindspot now, the only place where it’s safe to talk.”

He doesn’t seem convinced.

“I tested it out, if they had ears here I would be back in supermax.”

“What would you like to talk about, Miss Griffin?”

“I want out.”

He performatively knits his brow. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Cut the shit, we don’t have much time. I never wanted to be involved in the Bureau's investigation or put my family in danger in the first place, I was forced to. I want you to tell her I can make all of this go away if she gives me her personal guarantee that I’m off the hook.”

“I don’t know who you think I am in contact with…”

She rolls her eyes and cuts him off. “You are the real mole, you set me up... I’ve seen the evidence Woods is collecting, it may not be enough for court, but it’s pretty clear to anybody with eyes. You work for Nia. I don’t care, all I want is to make sure it doesn’t get worse.”

“For your family.”

“Yes. Personal guarantee that we are free and clear of her. I will tank the investigation and go back to prison, nobody has to hear about me ever again and my daughter grows up safe.”

Intrigued he decides to see where this is leading, carefully wording his answer in a way that can’t be used against him if it ends up being a trap.  “That’s a pretty tall order for just one person, are you saying you have the ability to stop an FBI investigation?”

“I’m a trained CIA agent Pike, no matter where you put me, those skills don’t go away. ” She pulls out a small recording device and dialing down the volume to a minimum she presses play.

A slightly tinny female voice comes from the speaker: “...she’s clearly blinded by her personal loss, her fiancée was killed by Nia Queen and now she’s ready to do anything to bring her down. Working with Clarke Griffin of all people is not only stupid and irresponsable, it’s bordering on criminal behaviour. Should there ever be an official inquiry…”

“Is that...”

“Yes, the Assistant Deputy Director of the CIA Raven Reyes slamming the entire operation and alleging that there could be legal consequences if it got out. If this leaked to the media it would be a disaster, everything about the task force would be swept under the rug and the agents  transferred to different field offices. Different coasts even.”

“Yes, probably.” He nods scratching his chin.

As quick as she pulled it out the device disappeared again in her pocket. “So?”

“So what?”

“Do you have a way of contacting the Ice Queen?”

Before he can answer the door is slammed open and Lexa rushes inside towards the television. She grabs the remote and switches among channels until she finds a newscast at random, which has a bright red chyron spelling out “Standoff at Mount Weather Goes Hot”.

 

\- - - 

 

The three women in the surveillance van are watching the same transmission, listening to the announcer trying to explain the chaotic happenings behind her. All that’s noticeable on screen is the sporadic chatter of machine guns in the woods and people in FBI windbreakers hurrying by in the distance.

“It’s unclear what caused this sudden escalation in use of force, but there’s definitely a firefight going on between members of the local militia and government agents, which seems to be distributed across a number of surrounding locations. Our consultant puts the number of participants in the several dozens, but there’s no official word yet on the…”

“Is this us? Is it part of the charade?” Octavia asks after a moment numbness.

“No, of course not.” Raven shakes her head, “How would we have arranged that? It’s on all channels, this is really happening.”

Triss holds up a hand to silence them both while she tries to listen to her cellphone, the only one to have direct access to the FBI. “Twenty minutes ago somebody opened fire precipitating the situation at the compound,” She informs them, “It's unclear who pulled the trigger first, but the site commander ordered a breach right after.”

“They are going in?”

She nods with a sour expression. 

“That’s not good.”

“Yes, you could say that. And also very convenient for our enemies.”

 

\- - - 

 

“All eyes will be on this, it’s the perfect cover for Nia to make her move.” Lexa grits her teeth walking up to Pike with wild eyes. “There’s no more time, once her attack has gone down you can bet your sorry ass she’ll put all her efforts in wasting  _ you _ . The last loose thread.”

Clarke tries to give her a look, a signal not to shake the boat too much, she was close to having him to incriminate himself, but this is a wrinkle they didn’t foresee. Anya and her friends are under fire, real danger this time.

Out of options she grabs her hand, trying to calm her down. “This isn’t helping, Lexa.”

The brunette doesn’t turn away from the senator, pointing a finger up to his face. “If you have anything to say do it now, or I swear I will drive you back to the city and throw you out in the middle of the street.”

“You are so far off the truth it’s laughable, I’ll have your badge when this is all over!”

“If one more person dies because of you…”

Suddenly a car alarm goes off somewhere closeby, its  unpleasant whining  sound ripping through the quiet night. The three of them fall silent.

“I’m going to check it out, but this isn’t over, you understand?” Lexa looks between the two of them. “If you hear shots barricade the door and don’t try to run. This place has only one exit, they will have it covered. Tamper with your tracking device instead, somebody will notice and come check it out.”

Time to turn the drama up to eleven.

“Before or after we’re all dead?”

“Shit Griffin, I don’t know. Just do it, ok?”

 

When she’s gone Pike takes a deep breath and nods towards the blindspot. Good.

Clarke quietly follows him there and lets him start the conversation this time, which he does very directly and slightly unnerved. “Help me escape and I will put a word in for you. Agent Woods is alone, we can overpower her.”

“No way.” She shakes her head. “If I go against the FBI they will retaliate, I want my hands clean of this. I give you the recording to get out there, when it happens I get canned with everybody else and they never find out it came from me. That’s the only way to do this.”

“You would have made a good mole.” He offers nodding slowly.

“Yeah well, fuck you.”

They are so close, she can feel it. The senator looks around the room thinking it over, running the odds, but if they’ve done a good enough job to muddy the waters with all their disinformation he won’t be able to. He’ll have to play the hand he’s been dealt.

“Ok fine, but I need a phone.”

Bingo. 

“I have a burner hidden in the bed frame.” She points towards one of the doors.

“Give me the recorder and distract her when she comes back.”

He holds out his hand impatiently. 

“You better don’t fuck me over, Pike.” She tells him before handing over the recording and leaving him alone. “You have enough enemies right now.”

All he has to do is retrieve the cheap flip phone hidden under the mattress and dial. He does the first part quickly enough, but then he comes back to the hidden corner and listens to another piece of the recording just to make sure.

“...She’s a snake. Lexa Woods is no match for her, Griffin will have her wrapped around her little finger in no time and guide the investigation wherever she pleases. If we don’t stop this now she’ll do damage we can’t even imagine to the intelligence infrastructure we’re just starting to…”

Convinced enough he opens up the cheap cell. It’s his last and most direct way to connect with Azgeda, one he wouldn’t use if there was any other way, but things are moving too fast now to be careful. He dials the number.

An unknown male voice picks up. “Yes.”

“This is Bishop, I need to talk to the Queen.” 

CLICK

The line cuts off, heavy footsteps thunder in from outside. Cursing under his breath he looks around for a place to hide the phone or an escape, but there is neither to be had. SWAT bursts through the door and slams him against the wall, twisting his arm behind his back.

“What is this, I am an US senator.” He yells out indignantly as a hood is pulled down over his head, muffling him. Plastic cuffs whirr closed around his wrists and somebody pulls him out into the open. Car doors slam shut. 

They drive him away.

 

\- - -

 

The smug faces on the pair of women are unbearable. Lexa Woods and Clarke Griffin, sitting side by side at the interrogation table, while he’s cuffed to the other side. The room is drab and dirty with no two way mirror, just a security camera that can easily be unplugged.

Not the FBI.

“It’s not looking good for you Pike...”

“I want a lawyer.”

“Oh yes, for sure you’ll need one.” Clarke gives him a condescending smile, “Let me tell you first hand, they don’t treat traitors very well in our legal system. You have quite the ride to look forward to.”

“...and he’s an elected official,” Woods adds, “After that kind of embarrassment they’ll make an example out of him.”

“Oh yeah, a senior senator turning out to be one of Nia Queen’s lackeys? That one won’t be forgotten quickly. Can you imagine the news reports?”

“I want a lawyer.” He repeats impatiently.

“I bet they will use all those wholesome ads he made for his reelection, you know those with the flag and the eagles in the background?  _ Pike for apple pie _ or whatever.”

“Oh yeah, I know those. My favorite is the one where he’s at the range and shoots at terrorist shaped targets drinking Budweiser. Won’t age well at all when it turns out he gets his marching orders from Russia.”

“A real American hero.”

“Lawyer.”

“Does Nia pay for that too, sellout?”

Griffin snorts. “Probably.”

That’s what makes him finally snap. He bangs his fists on the table and tries to stand up, but the chain’s too short, so he settles for screaming at them. “I’m not a traitor or a sellout, you fucking idiots! I’m a patriot! A patriot goddammit!”

“You have a strange way of showing it. Mole.”

“Just because your small minds can't comprehend the truth, because you walk through life with blinders on like everybody else. I'm no underling, no lackey, I’m her equal! We do what’s necessary to keep the world going round while you sit comfortably at home pretending everything’s fine like mindless sheep!

War! It’s the great cleanser, the machine that drags us forward through the ages, but you’ve all become weak! Pathetic and afraid chumps! You do all we can to prevent conflict, even when it's the only way. Where do you think most of our profits come from? Do you really think we could keep the lights on if we suddenly started to play nice with everybody?

The world needs people like me! People like Nia Queen!

One blow follows the next, so it may never stop!

She may be our enemy, but she understands a thousand times more than any soft spined politician in Washington, she's sacrificed her son to the cause, to the fight, like I've sacrificed so many of my men. For progress! For America!

The tree of liberty has to be watered with the blood of patriots and tyrants!

People have to die, for others to live! For you to live!”

When he’s done there’s a long silence, the women’s previously mocking expressions turning very serious. Then Woods pulls her chair back and starts to get up.

“Well, with that final misquote of our founding fathers I think we’re done here.”

Griffin follows suit without hiding her disgust at him. “Yes, we have everything we need, Your attorney will be here soon, but I’m guessing all the money in the world won’t be able to buy your freedom after that little number. Have fun in prison, patriot.”

“Wait!”

Already at the door they look back at him, sweaty and disheveled. “What?”

“Don’t you need me to get Nia and Azgeda? There’s a deal to be made, I’m sure.”

Griffin shakes her head and just leaves, Woods watches him for a moment longer.

“You’ve done enough.”

Then she slams the door shut.

He’s left alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One down. One to go. Things are definitely heating up now: Nia is pulling the trigger on her attack, the FBI is spread thin all over the place, Clarke's final fate is still to be decided. Three chapters to the closing bell, I hope you are ready for it.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm still here.  
> This lockdown has done quite the number on me, completely robbing me of all creative impulse. I've seen a lot of people putting out a lot of stuff and making good use of their time at home, but that's not been my experience at all. While I could plan, outline and organize notes, there was no way in hell I could summon enough inner peace to sit down and actually write anything for a while. At some point I decided to just power trough it, I started to put a few sentences on paper every day even if I felt they weren't that good and that's how I completed this chapter. The result may be sub par, not ideal so close to what I would like to be an awesome finale, but it's the best I can do right now. I'm hoping that your feedback will energize me and get me back on track.  
> Sorry to be such a downer, I'll leave you some happier news in the end notes.

Pike turns the cheap plastic cell in his hands, then composes the memorized number. He even reads it back to himself just to be sure, before pressing the green button and holding the phone up to his cheek. The line connects and creates a digital bridge between him and an unknown Azgeda agent.

“Yes.”

“This is Bishop, I need to talk to the Queen.”

CLICK. End of call.

That's all they needed.

The moment somebody picked up a malware, just a few lines of embedded code, have been sent to destination and began replicating. Called and saved numbers on the target device get pinged and infected themselves, then in turn so are their contacts. In less than an hour various dozen dots start to appear on the displayed map on a government computer.

The program is a CIA special, but just this once Triss is the one overseeing its use.

“How much do you want to branch out?” She asks, chewing on the back of a pencil. While her boss and Griffin are interrogating the traitorous senator, she and Raven Reyes are working on this front in an adjacent room of the old warehouse they've moved to. Their temporary operations center.

“Cap it at the third generation, anything past that will just muddle the picture.” The A.D.D. of Operations tells her, rolling closer with her chair.

“You got it.”

Her keyboard clicks away and orders the infection to stop after three levels of separation from the first guy Pike called. It's pretty incredible, when you think of it.

“This is some advanced stuff.” She comments absentmindedly.

Each one of those dots is a phone attached to a real person. Some may have nothing to do with either Azgeda or the Mountainmen, just more or less unknowing acquaintances or the place they order pizza from on Friday evenings, so there is nothing they can legally do with the information, but they've moved far past that by now. Building a case against Nia takes a backseat to stopping the attack and this intelligence will give hopefully them the much needed edge. They'll have to go in front of another senate committee after this anyway, might as well make it count.

Raven nods. “Let me know as soon as there's movement or a pattern emerges.”

“Copy that.”

 

\- - -

 

Even with a confession a treason case against a senator is no joke, so Nyko's team and Luna take Pike into their custody and prepare to hide him away in a bureaucratic limbo for the time being. After that it's mostly waiting and hoping everything will go according to plan, if you can really call what they are doing a plan. Lexa has her doubts and wanders from room to room of their improvised headquarters trying her best to keep her nervous energy at bay. Indra is working on getting all their ducks in a row, but it's still an enormous amount of moving parts.

The small handful of Agency analysts Reyes trusts enough to call in are trying to use street cameras and other tricks to identify who the numbers they are tracking belong to, since to no ones surprise they are all anonymous, but it's hard to tell in a crowded city and they mostly have to guess. Grainy print outs of faces get put on a cork board one after the other, many with question marks under them and even those few they can identify don't seem to have a criminal record or anything else actionable, frustrating the special agent even further.

Blake's people have made themselves at home in the large open floor where the machines once stood and are preparing for war. They load magazines for their automatic rifles, check receivers and vests in quiet focus like they've probably done dozens of times before, but there's a noticeable tension in their midst. Operating stateside is not only unusual for them, but highly illegal, not to mention that they are about to literally run towards a mass casualty event, a thought she's grappling with herself.

She's grateful when Triss intercepts her pacing and holds up a tablet with an update.

“Collins and Titus are both in senator Pike's call logs for the last month, but since he wasn't on our radars until recently we don't have any way to know what they talked about.”

“So we have no way to know if they are accomplices of just pawns.”

“None.” She confirms, “What do you want me to do? We could have enough to have them both arrested on suspicion and questioned. Jaha too I think.”

“Somebody should definitely keep tabs on them from a distance, but it's not the time to bring them in. We have bigger fish to fry, just have me informed ASAP if anybody makes a move.”

The young agent nods curtly. “Collins is already surrounded by our people at Mount Weather and I can have somebody from the field office check in on Titus on the down low. I have a buddy from Quantico that owes me a favor. ”

“Yes, do that. As long as they follow their usual routine there's no reason to tip them off.” After a moment she gives her the screen back and adds, “Good work.”

It's remarkable how much the admittedly smart rookie has grown into her role over the course of the operation, far more experienced agents would have already buckled under the pressure. Lexa has no doubt that there's a brilliant career in her future as long as the day works out in their favor.

If not... There isn't much else they can do to Griffin, she would probably just be shipped back to prison and forgotten about. And Reyes... the CIA is a strange place, no way to predict how she would end up. The Blake's would have to close up shop, move to a foreign country and change their company name at the very least, criminal charges wouldn't be out of the question. 

Then there's all the federal agents. Anya, Lincoln and Triss, Kane as their supervisor, Nyko and his guys, maybe even Luna and Indra. Good names dragged trough the mud for trying to do the right thing. She'll shield them all as best she can, she decides, she'll do her best to take the fallout on her shoulders should it come to that.

This nightmarish ruminating brings her to the small kitchenette, home of an ancient microwave and the barely serviceable coffee machine from which Griffin is preparing herself a cup. Looking up to see the brunette coming she pulls out a second one, fills it up and pushes it over to her.

“How's it going?”

Lexa shakes her head slowly. “We are on track, but honestly... I'm about to climb up the walls. This is not how I'm used to doing things, there's too much coloring outside the lines going on, everything is in flux. I hate it.”

The blonde just hums in response and pushes the glass pitcher back in place.

“So we know from the kind of intel Azgeda waned from Wick that they'll built some kind of dispersion device...” She takes a big sip of the frankly horrendous brew and tries to get her mind back on a more productive line of thought.

“Yes. Dirty bomb seems most likely.” Clarke provides, inspecting the crusty sugar packets.

“...and both their previous operational profile and the malware seem to indicate they will strike somewhere here in the city, almost certainly at a government building.”

“Of which there are hundreds in DC.”

She huffs, rubbing her temples. “Right. Shutting them all down is not an option and sending out a general alarm to local law enforcement would just warn them that we are on to the plan and escalate the situation to an unknown contingency.”

“We went over all of this, Woods. Multiple times.”

“I know.” She retorts, voice full of frustration.

She does, but standing still while a storm builds up at the horizon is not in her DNA. She knows the hours of analysis they've poured into this have pretty much exhausted all avenues of inquiry and yet she's itching to do something else. Something more.

“So listen,” Griffin begins hesitantly, “There's actual something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Please.” She invites her tiredly, anything to take her mind off things.

“I want to go in the field for this.”

Lexa frowns and opens her mouth to respond, but Clarke stops her holding up a hand.

“Before you say anything, know I will be out there if you want me or not. You should have learned by now that you can't hold me and to face Nia I will pull all the stops. I will gnaw my wrist off if it comes to it. Nobody will know where I am or what I'm doing and that will stress you out immensely.”

True that.

She goes on. “You don't need that hassle when you should be focusing on the operation, so just say yes and let's do this in the open. What's one more bent rule?”

The brunette looks at her for a moment, then bursts out laughing. It's probably just he nerves acting up, but who the hell knows anymore. “Out in the open, mh?”

“Yes.” The blonde nods, a smirk blooming on her face.

“That has to go both ways though. You can't pull anything crazy this time, if there's something you need or want to do you tell me first and we sort it out. And if for whatever reason I tell you not to, you'll stay in line. There's a lot on the line.”

“I...I'll try my best.”

“And if you try run, I'll shoot you.”

“I wouldn't expect anything less.”

In that small dingy room there's a moment of understanding between them, something she would have considered completely out of the realm of possibility just a few months or even weeks ago, but right now Lexa trusts that Clarke won't try to trick her this time. Catching Nia comes above all else, even her freedom.

That phrase about strange bedfellows comes to mind.

“Fine Let's get you a vest then, I'm guessing with all those mercs and their toys they'll have a spare or two laying around.”

 

\- - -

 

Octavia isn't subtle at all in trying to gauge their mood when they enter the room, she looks like a child waiting for an adults permission to go out and play. Nobody else pays them any mind, but the younger Blake is definitely in the loop about Griffin's request to be put in play.

“So?” She asks after a moment, trying to sound disinterested and keeping her eyes firmly on the guns she's cleaning. Clarke shoots Lexa a look and humorously shakes her head.

“I'm coming.”

“Great.” The contractor jumps up and immediately pulls out a radio pack and plate carrier for her, then pokes her sides until she lifts her arms up so she can help with securing it in place.

“I can do it myself, O.” The blonde protests. “I know how.”

“It's been fucking ages since you were in the field Griff, I don't want you to get shot because you forgot to fasten a strap. Did you loose a bunch of weight? I heard the food in prison is awful, but this is frankly criminal.”

“Let go of me, you perv!”

“It has to be tight! For your safety!”

It's strangely endearing and when they are done they pull out a labelless bottle of whiskey, because of course somebody packed booze at the eve of the most important op in their lifetimes. They pass it around to fill any available container, paper cups, canteens and a mason jar are all pushed over to get a few sips. Federal regulation prohibits alcoholic beverages before an engagement, but at this point anything goes and Lexa drains the last of her coffee to get her share.

Bellamy, also clad in tactical gear, raises his drink up looking around. “There's this thing we used to say when we were... doing classified work we can't really go into right now, kind of a reminder if you will. First rule of a gunfight, bring a gun.”

Somebody in the back of the gathering lets out a laugh.

“You remember Griffin?” He asks with a large smile.

She nods and completes, “Second rule of a gunfight, bring friends with guns.”

“Hear hear!”

They toast and knock the moonshine back.

“We've got you covered.” The older Blake assures with a somber nod directed at both Clarke and Lexa over the loud bragging and cheering of his men. The brunette nods back. They are all in this together.

 

\- - -

 

By the time Lincoln and Anya join them back from Mount Weather it's early morning and they have to wake Lexa from a restless nap she's a taking in a corner. Most of their cobbled together alliance is getting some shut eye and the warehouse is strangely silent in the grayish dawn lights.

Clearing her scratchy throat the brunette gestures towards an empty room they can talk in.

“Any news?” She mumbles a bit drowsy, still getting her bearings.

“Things are still ongoing. Last I heard it was four injured on our side, all minor. They'll have to canvas the entire mountainside though to make sure there are no more fugitives, it's a massive time sink, they'll be units out there for weeks.” Lincoln sums the situation up, sitting down for he first time in what feels like ages.

“And the inciting incident?”

“Unclear. Somebody took a shot at us from the woods, it's starting to look like it was an unknown third party, but there's no official proof yet. They used a generic hunting rifle, could have been somebody from the militia, but we had them contained in the bunker...”

Anya scoffs. “Nia sent somebody to throw a match and watched the clusterfuck unfold.”

Lexa hums in agreement. That would mean the attack is imminent. “Well, we are as prepared as we'll ever be. If you can manage, you should get yourself a warm meal and some rest, then I'll catch you up on what we have worked out from the tap...”

Like on cue a door bangs open nearby and they hear a very cranky Raven Reyes call out to the sleeping masses. “Look alive! It's going down!”

“Nevermind. No rest for the wicked.” She shrugs apologetically, pushing them both out the door and towards the computer room where Triss and the nerds are set up.

Six large fluorescent monitors full of real time feeds greet them at arrival, but their attention is drawn to the main one, where a grouping of red dots is moving in unison down a trafficked DC street. Every time they cross a surveillance camera they have access to still images of the people corresponding to those dots area added to a growing photographic array.

“Update.” Lexa orders, and they quickly play them back the last few hours of phone movements in time lapse, showing three groups of operatives rendez-vous at different locations and converge on the city center. There's a number of bulky backpacks among them, impossible to tell which is holding the device or if there's more than one. No visible weapons for now, but they have to assume they are all armed. It's going down indeed.

“Ok, this is it people. You all know your stations, keep the comm lines open!”

Lexa storms out and waving the approaching people back towards the exists, they pile them into the vehicles coordinating via radios. Lincoln, Lexa and Clarke are in the lead car, Anya is with the Blake siblings, then three more vans full of operators and Triss and Raven quarterbacking from HQ.

“Reyes, talk to me.”

“Their movement is definitely coordinated, they are heading somewhere towards Capitol Hill, ” She observes, “but it's still wide open on the specific target... Hey, what the hell? Triss, double check that, ping them all manually. Get me the streetcams.”

“What now?”

“A group disappeared.”

“Could they have turned the phones off?”

“No they would still be transmitting passively. The only way would be to destroy the internals, but that's not as easy as the movies would have you believe.”

“It's the subway.” Clarke realizes, following along their movement on a tablet from the passenger seat. She turns it to Lexa while Lincoln drives, pointing at the street they were last seen.“There's an entrance there.”

“She's right, Bethesda station.” Raven confirms. “They went underground.”

Another group disappears, then soon after the third follows suit. All near subway entrances.

“Shit.” Lexa starts to bark out orders, changing up their entire game plan. “Triss, plot the intersections of those lines and narrow down possible targets around those areas. We need to establish a security cordon, evacuate the area and get in there.”

“Snipers will be useless down there and CQC will get messy fast.” Octavia comments from the car behind them. Close quarters combat. What she's referring to is clearing the corridors one by one hoping not to get any civilians in the crossfire and calling it messy is an understatement.

Clarke's only half listening to the chatter, she doesn't have a gun and won't be much use on that front, but a thought keeps bugging her.

The Ice Queen will probably want to be there to witness this. Her final victory. Somewhere close by, but from where she'll be able to evacuate easily. She wont be caught mucking around in the filthy underground though, that's not her style. Zooming around the city map on her small screen she finds another small cluster of numbers, just three of them in a luxury hotel.

“Rae, does the Continental have a helipad?”

“Yes, but there's a no fly zone in effect over the entire city courtesy of the FBI. And it's nowhere near the subway line.”

Hearing only the part that interests her right now the blonde mutters to herself. “That won't stop her. A private helicopter could easily come in from outside the city limits and pick her up in the chaos. A front row seat to the carnage.”

“What are you saying?”

“We have to stop. Stop the car!” She calls out to Lincoln.

Lexa is hesitant, but gestures him to slow down. “What?”

“Nia is here, she's observing from a safe distance! Even if we stop the attack today she'll disappear for years before surfacing again, we have to get her now or it will never stop!”

The brunette looks at her, completely unmoving for a few heartbeats. “Are you sure?”

In lieu of an answer Clarke turns the map towards her and taps at the hotel. “Right here.”

Breathing out slowly the FBI agent picks up her radio and pushes the button to transmit. “Anya, I need you to oversee this with the Blakes without us. Secure the scene as soon as you narrow it down, they have ordnance disposal techs with them...”

“Where are you going?”

“To cut the head off this snake. We have a location on the Queen.”

A moment of crackling and silence on the line.

“Go fuck her up then, I'll save the day on my own.”

Lexa smirks. She doesn't like peeling away from the more dangerous task like this, but Griffin is right, this is their one chance. She gestures to Lincoln and he swerves into a side street towards the hotel.

“Be careful.”

 

\- - -

 

The remaining cars come to a screeching halt in front of the subway station and the morning commuter crowd is taken aback by the large number of heavily armed people swarming out and down the stairs. Anya's FBI credentials are luckily enough to calm them down a bit and follow her directions to disperse.

“Team on target, we're going in.”

“Roger that, Woods. Local PD is closing down the stations around you, no trains in transit.”

“Good to know.”

Down on the platform it's pretty much the same scene again, with initial trepidation, quickly followed by lukewarm compliance to slowly vacate the area, all seems to be going fine until two apparently ordinary guys complete with messenger bags and travel mugs pull guns and start to shoot, descending everything into utter chaos.

There's panicked screams as the last few civilians run for safety and their team starts to return fire. A well aimed automatic burst brings one of the two shooters down, the other jumps on the tracks and starts to dash away towards he darkness.

“They have spotters! In pursuit!”

Two teams of operators follow on his heels turning on lights on their helmets and weapons, among them both Anya and Octavia, while it falls to Bellamy to mount up their rear guard and make sure there are no other surprises waiting for them. Heavy footfalls echo in the tunnel, a service door slams shut, but before they can reach it muzzle flashes light up in front of them.

More militia men.

 

\- - -

 

In the meantime the lead car reaches the Continental hotel and they approach it warily trough the parking lot in front. The FBI agents both have their weapons drawn, while the blonde follows behind double checking their trace on the tablet. All phones are still there, she signals with a thumbs up. Lexa nods and walks up to the very confused usher at the front door to show him her badge and explain in hushed tones what's going on.

While they talk Lincoln carefully checks the balconies over them with his rifle scope, but Clarke is distracted by something she sees trough the large windows of the ground floor. She and a man in the lobby meet eyes for a second, he looks like a business man of some kind, but there's a flash of recognition in his face. With one quick move he opens up his briefcase and pulls out a machine gun.

“Down!” Is all she has time to yell before a hail of bullets flies trough the glass towards them.

The usher is hit several times in the back, as are a bunch of guests, with Lexa luckily managing to dodge behind a flowerbed near the door. They get off a few shots in return, but the man inside has the dominant position and no shortage on ammunition forcing them to stay down.

“Contact confirmed at the Continental hotel,” Clarke calls out over the radio, “Probable Azgeda operatives in civilian clothing on the scene, mixed among the guests.”

She watches as her two companions exchange handsigns. The brunette takes a stone from the flowerbed and starts to silently move along her cover. One more nod among them, then she throws the heavy object trough a windows on the far left, away from their poition.

The guy immediately reacts opening up fire in that direction and Lincoln surges forward in the open to take him out and doesn't miss. Keeping the momentum going the former marine jumps inside though the destroyed storefront checking the lobby, but somebody's arrived to back the first terrorist up from the stairs leading up to the rooms. More shots ring out and he topples to the ground.

Lexa's there in seconds, giving her colleague cover fire and forcing the second shooter to retreat to the upper floors. She turns to Lincoln, who is checking himself after the close call he just had, but it looks like he got hit square in the chest, where he's armored up. The handful of civilians that had been in the room weren't that lucky.

“You good?”

“It's...” He stutters, before sitting back down on the ground. “Lexa, I think they are shooting copkillers.” He lifts a bloodied hand and coughs painfully.

She and Clarke rush to his side peeling the vest off him. Looks like it took the brunt of the attack, but he's right, the bullets definitely made it tough the plating and he's loosing blood, lots of it.

“We have an agent down! All stations, all stations, the targets are using armor piercing rounds, I repeat, they are shooting armor piercing rounds. Agent is hit.”

 

\- - -

 

It's a brief, but furious battle in the subway tunnels. The Mountainmen where waiting ready for an ambush and they fell right into it, but luckily the Blakes' team is experienced enough to respond in kind, finding cover and moving up to engage the enemy fighters until their companions can come up from behind and end them in one fell swoop.

The people they are facing here are clearly not the best trained, put there probably to slow them down more than actually stopping their advance. Once the last remaining weekend warriors have been silenced they carefully open the metal door to the service tunnel and bring in a Geiger counter.

It's sporadic clacking sound picks up in frequency, alerting them to trace amounts of radiation.

“We are on the right track.”

That's when Lexa's voice suddenly breaks into their radio frequency. “...All stations, all stations, the targets are using armor piercing rounds, I repeat, they are shooting armor piercing rounds. Agent is hit.”

“Who is it Lexa?” Anya asks fearing the worst. “Lexa?”

“Ambulance is en route. ETA... eleven minutes.”

“It's Lincoln.”

“I'm good, I'm good.” The agent butts in himself, but his voice is strained. “It's a scratch, they'll just patch me up and we'll go get this done.”

It's not just a scratch, one bullet went trough his side and out the back, another is lodged in the shoulder area, not very deep it seems, but still. It doesn't look like he is in immediate danger for his life, but any additional movement could change that very quickly.

 

Bellamy shakes his head, listening in from his position at the subway entrance. “I don't understand why they would choose this place. There's no real dispersion down here, limited causalities and easy isolation of irradiated individuals. It's the complete opposite of what you would need for a dirty bomb.”

Anya has to concur with the assessment. “We're missing something.”

“Yes and I think I know what that is.” Raven chimes in from home base. “City maps show old connecting shaft down there where you are headed, walled off but reachable with minimal demolition. It's not the subway they want for their firework show.”

“What does it lead to?”

“The US Capitol transit system.”

“Shit.” Those people movers are used by representatives of both houses and a lot of other government personnel to move between the different buildings without having to brave DC traffic, the entire DC political machine comes trough there on a regular basis. “Is there current activity?”

“There's a Senate vote soon. It's full house down there.”

 

A cold shiver runs down Lexa's spine. Irradiating hundreds of career politicians and lobbyists grinding the entire United States government to a halt, that sounds absolutely in Nia's wheelhouse.

“I'm good.” Lincoln repeats again, while Clarke finished up a crude but hopefully effective field dressing. He even goes so far as to try and reach for his rifle, but he realizes it's a bad idea as soon as his back leaves the column he was leaning against. “Shit.” He let himself fall back down.

“We can't wait.” Lexa breaths out, hating herself for having to say it, but he as solid as they come and just nods in understanding.

“Just... Get me that.” He point over to his weapon and she pulls it closer for him. With practiced ease he checks the magazine, changes it out for a new one and braces the stock against his good arm.

“Local PD and medics are on their way. A few minutes tops.”

“Stop wasting time and go.” He grins.

The blonde leans down one more time under the guise of checking on the bandage, then pulls his sidearm from the holster and takes it with her. He nods and doesn't say anything.

“Keep talking on the radio until they are here, ok?”

“About what?”

“Anything, just to make sure you stay awake.”

The two women start to carefully make their way up the stairs, checking the corners. He looks around the room for a moment as his sight starts to get a bit hazy and pushes the transmitter.

“Do you maybe know if Octavia is seeing someone? I was thinking of asking her out after this...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you asked if there will be a sequel to this, and I still think there won't, but since I wasn't able to go on with writing much I put some thought in what my next project could look like and landed on something. It's not definitive yet, but I think it would please the sequel crowd, because is shares some of the traits of this story: I'm thinking of writing a police drama :D A bit more street level than COMPROMISED, but there would still be investigating and gunplay in the picture, and whole new mystery to solve... I even promise to put in a bit more lovey-dovey content this time around. What are your thoughts about that?


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not at 100%, but gotta soldier on I guess. This one gets extra bloody.

The tunnel behind the service door runs straight trough the concrete foundation of several buildings, then transitions to a small metal staircase that leads to the Capitol transit system. There's no trace of militia men, but very recently somebody used boltcutter and a blowtorch to open up the security barriers and the Geiger counters keep clicking away signaling barely safe levels or radiation.

They try to make their way trough the dark space as quickly as possible while still checking corners and looking out for traps, but when Octavia, Anya and their team see fluorescent lights up ahead again they've completely lost sight of the targets, which doesn't bode well.

“Making entry now, Reyes.”

“Head on a swivel folks, and mind the civilians. They're all lawyers, and a law suit is the last thing we need on top of everything else coming our way.”

The platform they pop out on is smaller and cleaner than the subway's, decked out in white marble and shiny gold trimming, the few people around are all wearing expensive powersuits and moving with purpose right up to the point where they run into a bunch of heavily armed soldiers and they understandably panic. It's only am matter of minutes before four men with earpieces and glocks descent upon them to see what's going on.

“Do not move! Weapons on the ground! Now!”

"Federal agents! Federal agents!” Anya yells back with the same urgency, signaling the operators at her back to lower their guns. “I'm going to reach for my badge now, don't shoot.”

Twitchy as everybody is feeling, they still manage to hold up on shooting each other long enough for her to identify herself to the security chief and carefully offer her credentials over so he can inspect them more closely.

“Special Agent Anya Woods, FBI. We're here on official business.”

“Miller,” The gruff older man leading the bunch introduces himself, eyeing the rest of her team suspiciously. He's good enough at his job to know that they very clearly aren't law enforcement, but since they haven't opened fire yet he gives them the benefit of the doubt. “Do you care to explain what you are doing barging in here loaded for bear, Agent Woods? It's a restricted area.”

“We have a very credible and immediate threat, Sir. I'm in pursuit of a group of domestic terrorists that has infiltrated your facility trough the same tunnel we just took and is planning to...”

There's movement behind them, she just catches it in the corner of her eye. A group of men positioned up on the mezzanine opens fire with automatic rifles. Octavia, one step behind the fed, just manages to pull Miller behind one of the large pillars in the room, but several bodies hit the ground and stain it blood red.

“Four shooters! Dax, you're with me, Atom go left. Get me some cover!”

Without waiting for confirmation the young brunette darts sideways towards the stairs, leaving Anya to curse under her breath and help spray shots up towards their aggressors hoping it will be enough to distract them from the counterattack.

Luckily it is. They manage to close them in and a brief crossfire ensues, but after just a few seconds the gun chatter grinds to a halt. Not wanting to take any chances though, they still move in with their guard up and check for surprises before giving confirmation. “Clear! All offenders down.”

Three of the dead shooters are wearing slick business attire to blend in around here, weapons hidden in leather briefcases, but one stands out in his gray overalls with the logo of an air conditioning company. Octavia quickly pats him down, but his pockets are mostly empty.

She looks over to the others, wiping the sweat from her neck. Miller's hit in the arm and bleeding profusely, two of his men gone and one of their own is looking pretty bad too. These people are ruthless and simply won't stop.

“It's in the air vents!”, she calls out. “We have to move!”

 

\- - -

 

In the meantime on the other side of the city Clarke and Lexa are rushing up the guest stairs of the Continental hotel on the heels of their quarry. There are more than twenty floors of convoluted hallways they would normally need days to clear, but luckily the gunman seems to be in a hurry and his heavy footsteps area clearly audible as he climbs higher and higher

More than once they stumble into groups of frightened guests that jerk away in panic when they see guns approach, but Lexa waves them back into their rooms, silently pointing to the bold white letters on her vest: FBI.

“Close the doors. Lay down in the bathtub and wait for the all clear.” She whispers, while Clarke peers up the stairwell to cover them. “Police is on it's way.”

Most do as they are told, all too happy to get out of the way, but of course things can't ever be easy and an older woman with half moon glasses is determined to slow them down. “What's going on?”

“I'm not at liberty to say, ma'am.”

“You can't just leave us in the dark, I am a taxpayer and I demand...”

“Terrorists have taken over your vacation spot.” The blonde buts in impatiently, “Now scram.”

With a soft push for good measure she closes the door behind the pain in the ass and signals with two fingers that they are about to reach to top floor and it's penthouse. Seems like a logical hideout for the people they are looking for.

 

The door is still swinging half open on it's hinges when they get to it, giving them a glimpse of a broad corridor with expensive art hanging on both walls. Judging from the noise somebody is hurriedly packing up their things in the open space ahead, so they creep inside, but almost immediately the shooter from before jumps out from a side room guns blazing, forcing them to dive for cover.

There's yelling in Russian over the fire and two figures run past behind the large man towards the roof access. Was that Nia? The mere possibility of being this close to the Ice Queen sends Clarke's mind into overdrive and she peers out trying to gauge what best to do.

With that volume of fire the brute has to reload pretty quickly, giving Lexa the chance to get in a few shots of her own, but they don't hit and soon enough he's back at it, slowly retreating without letting off them with his machine gun. About thirty seconds, she counts, then again, a moment of lull as he swaps out magazines. Very efficient, probably ex military.

For all his skills he can't stop his machine gun from suddenly jams up though.

“Fuck!” He rattles wildly at the receiver to no avail. Seeing them come out in the open he tries to use the rifle like a club and swings at the brunette's head, she quickly dodges and kicks his leg with a well practiced move. The blonde joins in and the scuffle is short but brutal, ending with a pistol whip that sends him reeling.

“Stay down!”

They zip tie him and continue to move.

Time is of the essence.

 

The sun has risen high in the perfectly clear, wind swept sky over DC that morning. They emerge on the roof just in time to see two silhouettes climb up towards the still empty helipad, harsh light at their back. This is it, Clarke realizes, one way or another this is where it ends.

“Stop!” She hears Lexa call out, “Federal agents!”

The woman turns to glance back and it's definitely the Ice Queen, but before any of them can react in any way her companion shoves her roughly to the side and tears something out of her hand, holding it up. It's plastic handle with a button on it, a dead man switch most likely.

“Don't come any closer!” Cage shouts at them, “Stay where you are or this thing goes up!”

He looks different from their old surveillance photos they looked at during the investigation, less put together with unkempt stubble and red rimmed eyes. The death of his fancy doctor girlfriend must have hit him hard, or more likely his progressively desperate situation after getting into bed with a Russian terrorist, but the resemblance to Dante still gives him away.

“Sorry, every man for himself.” He smirks almost frantically at his accomplice, “I'm not going down with the ship, not a chance. Stay back you two! Stay back and nobody has to get hurt!”

Ignoring his ramblings they slowly move up towards the platform, where Nia has recovered quickly and pulled a pistol to point back at them making the already dangerous situation even more volatile.

“Stand down! Every single police car in the city is inbound by now.”

“Stop right there! You stay back and we'll get out of here nice an easy.”

He feverishly looks around the rooftop trying to figure a way out, but the options are thin and he starts to look more and more like a cornered animal.

“There's no way to pull this off Cage, come on. It's over.”

“Don't listen to them.” Nia says calmly, “It's not over.”

 

\- - -

 

“Triss, do you have the blueprints of this place?”

“Only general layout from the tourist brochure, the rest is classified by the Secret Service. Given time I can probably get access, but...”

“The bomb is in the ventilation system, how many access points can there be in a place this size?”

“Several hundred.” The answer doesn't come from Anya's earpiece, but from Miller, who is leaning up against the wall nearby with his severely mangled biceps held against the chest. “It's an old setup with large conduits connecting virtually the entire structure, but you need authorization to access them. Magnet cards and keys.”

She's already sent out most of the team to start inspecting the closest intersections, but if what the man says is true they'll need far more people than they have. Much more time.

“How much time till the vote, Triss?”

“The session has begun already.”

“Is there any way to narrow down where they could hit?”

Fumbling with his good hand the security chief tries to get to the radio fixed to his belt, but it takes some help from the federal agent to finally pull it from it's leather holster and firmly into his grasp so he can use it.

“Tom, this is Miller, can you hear me? Give me a sit rep.”

“Yes boss, I hear you.” A voice pipes up, “Cops are on their way and lockdown protocol has been initiated for all secure stations along the line. What is going on down there?”

Anya shakes her head vehemently. “No, don't lock them down, you have to evacuate!”

“Not possible,” The old guard rasps, “In emergency situations VIPs can't be moved without proper escort, which are handled by the Capitol police on priority basis. With no forewarning it will take hours to get everybody out.”

“Shit.”

“You can say that, yes.” He clears his voice again. “Listen Tom, I'm about to give you over to an agent Woods from the FBI. She's heading the immediate crisis response. Give her whatever she needs.”

“Got it.”

“He has the cameras.” Miller explains, offering up the walkie talkie to her.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Ok fine. The dirty blonde takes a deep breath and starts to think what her sister would do in the situation. There's no chance she'll let her down now, not a chance even one of these stupid old geezers she didn't vote for will die on her watch.

“Listen up Tom, about ten minutes ago a group of maybe half a dozen men came in near Rayburn station and mixed among your normal fare. We've got four right here on the platform, but others are still carrying out their plan and I don't know where they are. I need you to look out for anybody that doesn't belong, anybody that acts suspicious or off.”

“Do you have anything else to go on?”

“Not a thing.” She tells him truthfully.

“Great. I'll do my best, Agent.”

A few moments pass by as the security guard combs trough dozens of cameras and angles and Anya starts to get more and more restless. Calling in a generic bomb threat would be enough to get them to forgo all the evacuation protocols and just run out the building probably, but what if they have planned for such an occurrence? What if they have shooters positioned somewhere?

The weight of her every move is staggering.

“Him. Sector M-2, near the stairs to the Senate building.”

Surprised that this Hail Mary got them anything, she lifts the radio again.

“Are you sure, Tom?”

“I've seen him before around here, but he was a delivery person, I'm sure of it. Now he's dressed like a technician and I don't have anybody signed in for maintenance. I can play back where he was before if you give me a few moments.”

“Great work! Blake, redirect south. Senate access M-2.”

 

\- - -

 

“It's not over, we are on our final move. We're about to bring the entire United States to it's knees, make history. They will talk about this for ages, don't get stupid now Cage.”

“I...” The fear in his eyes in more than evident, but Nia's deceptively calm and measured voice is slowly bringing him back. As on cue a private helicopter, their escape plan, makes its approach known with loud rotor noises.

“See? Just keep it together, we're about to get out of here.”

“There's no way that thing lands.” Lexa yells over the uproar, “Police choppers are already in the air to intercept it, if your pilot is smart he's gonna bail. But give me that detonator and it will play very well in court, you can still get away from the worst of it.”

“Liars! I know I'm going to prison!”

“Yes, yes that's true, but there's a giant difference between where you are standing now and where you would be standing if that device goes off. Plus we saw how you took that from Nia, we can tell it to the judge, tell him how you stopped her, that will shave years from your sentence. Right Griffin?”

Put on the spot he blonde nods, trying to find the right words. “Y-yes. Yes, Cage, showing good will goes a long way. We just care about her, not you.”

He hesitates, for just a moment, but the Ice Queen isn't going to let that happen.

“This isn't a movie Cage, as soon soon as you lower the switch they will shoot you.”

“No!”

“Think of what they did to you father and his friends! To Lorelei. They are murderers, liars, stone cold killers on the government's dime.”

“And what are you, Nia?” The blonde scoffs.

“I'm just a mother taking her revenge! You killed my son! You put him down like a dog from thousands of miles away with one of your drones, but I've come to bring the war right to your doorstep for once and you own corrupt politicians helped me do it. It's time you all pay for once!”

"That's bullshit! Roan was killed because he was selling arms to terrorists.”

Back before this entire thing started Clarke had entire teams of analysts scour Nia's history for possible motives for her crusade, she knows that story like the back of her hand. His death may have been collateral, but not an accident.

“He was a good man. A good soldier.” The woman insists.

“He was a rogue agent, an arms and drugs trafficker, even your people had washed their hands of him after all the shit he pulled in Siria! He ended up close to the wrong guy at the wrong time and was done for, but it's nobodies fault but his! He made his choices.”

“They will regret giving that order! Each and every one of them!”

Above them two black and white police helicopters appear on the horizon and the private aircraft that was about to start it's descent to them falter like they predicted, before turning away completely and leaving his passengers on the ground.

So much for loyalty.

“Do you really think that's the message that will come trough?” The blonde keeps pushing, “They will just hear of the crazy bitch that tried to blow the Capitol up, nobody will know about him. Nobody will give a shit.”

Nia lets her head hang back in her neck for a moment and looks up to the heavens, she seems to take on final deep breath to steel herself. Maybe this really is the end.

“Then I guess there's nothing left to say.”

She turns her weapon towards Cage and shoots. The man stumbles in place and grabs his bleeding gut, making a horrible gurgling sound.

Without a second thought Lexa rushes forward to take the switch from him as he quickly looses consciousness and lets it slip away, but the Ice Queen screams out in rage and lifts the gun to shoot again, this time to kill the brunette.

Clarke is quicker.

Two shots.

The first catches Nia in the shoulder, jerking her partially on her axis, then the second one in the side. Her white coat soaks in red as she falls to her knees. Moving on instinct more than thought the former CIA agents closes the distance between them and empties the entire magazine into her until the slider is stuck back and she falls to the ground, a bloody pool forming under her.

 

\- - -

 

Octavia has tunnel vision. All she sees is the long white corridor she's running along, all she hears are her boots hitting the tiles, or is it her heartbeat in her throat and ears? It doesn't matter, sliding along the white shiny surface she comes to a stop and not caring for the handful of other people present zeroes in on the technician in the gray overalls walking maybe twenty steps ahead of her.

“Hey you!”

The guy turns around to face her, like in slow motion she sees him reach for his waist and without hesitation shoots him between the eyes. The onlookers go to the ground screaming, fearing for their life, she runs up and kicks his pistol away, cross-hairs still pointed downwards at him.

“Target down.”

Anya and some more men are close behind her. There's no backpack around, no device, but the dead man has a security card with no markings on it, like the ones any hacker worth his salt can make in his basement. One of the security guards swipes it on a small gizmo and tells them which door it was programmed to open. It's not that far. She takes off running again.

Every move counts, every second is precious.

She quickly scans the numbers on the doors she's rushing past, repeating the right one over and over in her head. When she sees it she doesn't wait for keys of permission, one hard kick and the wood shatters, another and she's inside. An obnoxious alarm bell goes off, but she doesn't pay it any mind.

“Jackpot. I repeat, jackpot. Get me Jasper right now.”

He and Monty are on the scene rather quickly, not as fast as her since they are carrying lots of equipment, but for once they seem to understand the urgency and don't waste any time to jokes. When they enter the small utility room she's still just standing there looking at the thing, a boombox sized mess of cables and circuits with a metal container at it's core.

The small radiation indicator on her belt is blinking red.

“Jeeeesus,” She hears one of boys whistle in awe, “Who wired this thing up, a meth addict with ADHD? Good to know the Unabomber is alive and well.”

She feels almost numb when she turns to them as they start to set their instruments up, neither of them bothering with a bomb suit in this contained environment.

“How much time?”

Jasper looks to Monty, who keeps his eyes on the clippers he's laying out, they look nervous. That's not good, they are never nervous.

“Just start evacuating, ok?”

She nods slowly and walks away.

 

\- - -

 

The roof is quiet, only the echo of the shots still ringing in their ears.

Clarke breaths in and out a few times to sure herself up turning back to the federal agent, who is kneeling on the ground with the bomb's detonator held closely in two hands. She looks pale, almost panicked as she tries to keep herself from shaking.

“We good?”

“I'm not sure Griffin, I'm not sure if I can...” She swallows thickly looking down at what she's holding. The black plastic is slick with Cage's blood.

“Don't move!”

The blonde takes off towards he penthouse and starts to throw open drawers and shake out the contents of boxes until she comes up with a half finished roll of duct tape from somewhere. With that she crouches down and they very carefully try to bind the switch in place hoping it will hold, but Lexa still keeps her white knuckled thumb on it just to be sure. Thousands of lives depend on it.

Clarke leans back on her heels and closes her burning eyes for a moment.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, it's just... You know... Shit.”

“Hey, take a breath ok?”

If she only could remember how to do that.

Suddenly overwhelmed by the situation she surges forward, hugs Lexa and starts to cry. She doesn't even think about the fucking switch, or the bomb, or anything really, just the earth shattering feeling of knowing that Nia and maybe even Azgeda are no more. That it's finally over. The brunette hugs her back with one arm, resting her chin on the top of her head, her closed fist tightly between them.

She'll see her family again, know them to be safe even if they haul her off to prison again. It's over, really over this time. No matter what the official stance is, she'll be free to explain herself to her daughter one day when she's old enough, tell her why she had to do what she did. She'll be able to look her in the eyes.

 

“Clarke.”

It's the first time the FBI agent has used that name, always sticking to Griffin before.

She notices, but can't muster the strength to lift her head.

“Clarke, listen...” She goes on almost timid, “I've literally my hands full with this DMS, my team is all over the city and the control center is in high gear to find any other Mountain Men left.”

“...Yes.”

She has trouble to focus on the mission like her partner apparently is, her mind is all over the place and her limbs feel heavy and spent. There's no way. She's done. Let the chips fall where they may no, let the Senate go up in flames for all she cares, it's not like they did her any favors...

“I... I'm pretty sure here's nobody monitoring your tracker right now and here won't be for a while.”

“What?” Clarke stops in her tracks.

“I just mean... It's Nia's fault if you are in this situation to begin with and you more than made up for it I think. If you... I'm not sure looking for you would be a top priority... It wouldn't be for me. You should just go, we'll be fine.”

She's not sure that's true, but it's what Lexa decides to say in that moment.

“I hear you are pretty good ad being a ghost.” She adds as an afterthought, the sad smile almost audible as she sniffs trying to keep her own tears under control.

Clarke finally opens her eyes and looks at her with a frown of surprise painted all over her face. There's a long pause as she keeps her blue eyes fixed on her, boring trough her it feels like, then she burst out in a wet laugh and kisses her.

It's short and not at all that romantic, just a peck almost missing her lips really, but it sends and electric jolt down the FBI agent's spine.

“I have a nine year old, Lexa. I can't run.”

“Oh, yeah. I didn't think about that.” She stammers, “Sorry.”

“Idiot.” The blonde huffs and leans in again, this time more softly.

Is this... Are they... She isn't sure when this thing came together, but it feels completely obvious now, and somehow right. She kisses her back and hugs her close. They just stay there for several minutes as a breeze rustles their hair together and wait to see what will happen next.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are, one very special last chapter before this behemot of a fic gets to its long planned out conclusion. It's a bit premature, but I really want to thank you for all your wonderful comments, both super positive and mildly critical, because they are what spurred me on to keep working on COMPROMISED and even if it's not as awesome and shiny as it was in my head I'm very damn proud about the result all the same. You did such an awesome job of keeping me going that I'm already pretty deep into the planning phases of the next story, which will probably be as involved and long as this one even though I said I would take it easy. :)


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